Master of Terror
by The-Stupidest-Author-Ever
Summary: A string of heinous crimes plagues London, sending the city into terror. Alexandra Frye has vowed to protect the freedom of mankind with her life, but what if she can't defend herself?
1. Chapter 1

**Alexandra- "Defender of Mankind," "warrior," "most beautiful thing in the world."**

 **Zachary- "remembered by God"**

 **Okay, this letter was sent before the events of the Jack the Ripper DLC, so it's mostly for an intro and foreshadowing. Also if you notice the date, I dated it give a realistic time for the letter to reach Evie in India and for her to travel to London**

 **Disclaimer: don't own Assassin's Creed, or had any influence in history**

 **Warnings: Rated M for graphic violence, graphic death, angst, and other warnings will appear**

 _June 26, 1888_

 _My dearest sister,_

 _I am afraid I am sending this letter with not the best of circumstances. For twenty years, after the Assassins defeated the Templars in London, the city enjoyed a certain peace. But I fear that peace is drawing to an end. I see the city we fought so hard and long for slipping away from me. At every corner I see Templar spies watching the streets of London, but when I turn to my brothers and sisters for aid, they are gone. Someone is killing the Assassins. Hunting them down, like the same menace that haunted the Colonial Brotherhood over a hundred years ago. I have sent the Assassins that remain into the brothels of London, trying to use their eyes and ears to find a lead. Even my daughter, Alexandra, has joined the hunt. Do you remember her? She reminds me a lot of you—she is clever, patient, and a pain in my arse, but if there's one thing she got from her father, it's her tongue. No person I trust more with this critical assignment, but there is no person I fear for more. She had just completed her training, and yet she believes she is skilled enough to take on the world. But we were once the same way, were we not? Zachary is still too young. He has yet to complete his training and is still ignorant to the harshness of the world. Which is why I call upon you, my dear sister. I know you have a family, that you are to be by your husband's side and you have your own sons, but I need you. We need to fight together, if we are to liberate London from this menace that lurks in the alleys of our city. Blood has been spilt, and there is more to come. Please, Evie, come to England at the utmost haste. The legacy of the Assassin Brotherhood depends on it._

 _Your brother,_

 _Jacob Frye_

 _Chapter 1_

The autumn night was cold, but not yet as frigid as the winter days to come. Clouds rolled across the sky, blocking any signs of the stars or moon. Only the lanterns of stores and lampposts illuminated the street, but of number of them were left unlit, having sinister shadows cling to the stone of the streets and buildings.

Jacob Frye hid in one of these shadows.

Even with his heavy, long coat, the cold seeped through the clothing and bit at his skin. His thin gloves did little to protect his hands. It provoked the man to blow a breath of air into his palms, only to see a mist form at the action. He rubbed his hands together and wondered how much longer he would have to wait. Standing still in the darkness certainly wasn't getting him any warmer.

Arms folded across his chest, Jacob glanced over at the window in front of him. The light of a nearby lamppost shone onto the glass at just the right angle to allow the man to see his reflection. The Assassin had certainly changed from his younger days.

Now forty years of age, his dark brown hair was streaked with silver. It was mangy and untrimmed, swept back in a desperate attempt of tidiness. His beard hard grown unshaven and unkempt, but not yet thick enough to hide his features. Crow's feet were on the sides of his eyes, which were already dark and sunken from lack of sleep. Jacob couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a good night's sleep. He doubted he ever would again.

A voice pierced the silence of the night.

"Get a move on, Mr. Finch, this a story of a lifetime!"

Jacob peered out of his hiding place to notice a pair of sharply dressed men, walking briskly across the courtyard. One man slipped away, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, leaving the other alone. He was not unlike Jacob—untrimmed and obviously sleep-deprived—but for a very different reason. The Assassin approached him.

"Mr. Weaversbrook, I know you have more of the Ripper's letters," Jacob accused, quickening his pace to match the man that was now trying to flee from him. The journalist audibly groaned.

"I told you to stay away from me," he growled over his shoulder. He moved even faster, but the Assassin would not have it.

Reflexes unhindered by age, Jacob reached out and snatched the man's arm. He forced Weaversbrook into a halt and to turn to face him.

"Stop publishing _his_ letters," the older man ordered, using authority behind his voice. Something that only came after years of being Mentor. "You've turned an unknown miscreant into a legend—and that's what exactly what _he_ wants."

Weaversbrook opened his mouth to retort, but never had the chance.

"Father!"

Jacob glanced over his shoulder at a figure rushing out of an alleyway. It was a young woman, not yet in her twenties. She wore a dress of sage, one that the man would have described as gorgeous, except it bared the woman's shoulders and showed more cleavage than his liking. Her white skin was illuminated under the lamppost's light. The woman had her long, dark brown hair wrapped into a bun on the top of her head. Her bright, hazel eyes, the same shade as his, were shining.

"Alexandra? What's wrong?" the father demanded. He had learned to pick up on his daughter's mannerisms.

Alexandra's skin gleamed from sweat and she panted heavily, no doubt due to a long run. The gleam in her eye wasn't from mischievousness or excitement like he was used to, but from something much more disturbing.

"It's the Ripper," Alexandra reported, her voice sullen. "He's done it again!"

Blood. That was first thing Jacob's mind could process when he reached the scene. It was everywhere—splattered across the walls and seemed to be across the entire courtyard, pooling around a pair of unmoving corpses. They had been covered by a white sheet, already stained red.

Then the Assassin Mentor noticed the entrails. Spread out across the cold stone. Ripped out. Just like _his_ mother.

Jacob blinked when suddenly a bright flash filled his vision, causing him to glare at the photographer for taking the gruesome picture. The man only shrugged and picked up his tripod and camera, moving away to allow the constables to investigate the scene.

Jacob knew it would be no use. It was obvious to see what had been done—but the police would find no clue of the killer. It what _he_ had been trained to do. While the Assassin stared at the scene, trying to process it all, his daughter, Alexandra dared to approach the bodies. He opened his mouth to scold her, one of the constables even doing so, but she was already pulling back the sheet.

Her hand flew to her face with a choked sob.

"Katey?" she whimpered. Something in Jacob's heart twisted in horrible way. Alexandra recoiled from the corpse, holding her stomach like she would be sick. "Oh, he can't, no, he can't have…"

While her back was turned, Jacob stiffly neared the other body. His stomach churned when he saw the face, then bile came to his mouth when he pulled the sheet from her stomach. He froze, an action he regretted when Alexandra turned around.

"And Lizzie?" she wailed. She shook her head and her voice cracked. "Not both. Not in one night."

Jacob realized what he had to do.

The man rose his spot and approached his daughter. Alexandra ignored him, frozen in place. Like he had done with Weaversbrook, the Mentor grabbed her arm, though gently, and dragged her away. She kept her gaze on her fallen friends until they were out of sight. She was then forced to look at him. Jacob's heart almost broke when he noticed the tears in her eyes, but they did not fall. Alexandra was strong.

"Remember what I said," he whispered to her softly, laying his hand across her shoulder. It took a moment for Alexandra's eyes to widen.

"Father, no—" she tried to protest, but was cut off by Jacob's hush.

He placed a bag of coins into her hands, wrapping her fingers around it. Alexandra looked up at him in a mixture of concern and betrayal. Jacob could not bear to look into her eyes. Instead, he placed his hands on her cheeks and pressed his lips to her brow.

Jacob wanted to tell her. How much he loved her, treasured her. That everything would be okay. But he couldn't.

"Now go," the father ordered.

Alexandra swallowed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the tears were gone. That was his girl. With a nod, the young Assassin slipped away.

Jacob watched her go until she disappeared from sight, knowing it would be the last time he would see her.

Only when she did, a great weight fell on the man's chest. His heart was heavy and it was suddenly hard to breathe, more so than it already was. He slowly turned back to the scene. He glanced up at the wall, his vision slipping into shadow.

A gleaming message greeted him.

 _How many more Assassins must die before you see the truth?_

Jacob swallowed. His heart hardened.

"Only one more, Jack," he muttered under his breath.

 _He_ was watching. He knew it.

Leaving the bloody scene behind, Jacob sauntered away. Soon the gasps and gags and gossip of the inspectors and journalists faded away, replaced by the sound of his heels on the cobblestone. Silence. Goddamn silence.

Jacob couldn't take it. The man paused in the center of the street and let the tremor in his body take over him.

Mutilated. His girls were mutilated, and left on grotesque display for the world to ogle. But it wasn't for the world. It was for him. As punishment for his sins, and his horrible, _horrible_ mistake. Now his Assassins were dead. His Brotherhood was destroyed. His family was gone.

Jacob pulled at his hair. In a moment of madness, he let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed off the stone buildings. He wanted to throw something, hit something, stab something, but there was nothing. He was alone.

Jacob balled his fists and punched the air, trying to contain himself. He forced himself to continue on, trying to keep one foot in front of another. Then he saw it.

The flicker of movement in the window's reflection. A reflection of what was _behind_ him. Jacob's hair stood on end. _He_ was following him. Like a shadow.

"I know you're there, Jack," the Englishman called, keeping his voice eerily calm. "Is the Master of Terror afraid to show himself?"

The Assassin received no reply. He continued on, moving past a group of men, oblivious to the night's excitement. When they glanced at him, Jacob gave a curt nod in greeting, acting casual. He didn't fail to notice their eyes widening at the figure shadowing him, and their small gasps of shock. It wasn't until he turned the corner did the Englishman start to run for his life. And he swore he heard a deep, dark chuckle, reverberating from the very walls that surrounded him.

Jacob sprinted through the back alleyways of London, twisting and cutting around corners and streets. The Mentor didn't know how long he ran. He didn't know how far his pursuer was behind him. He didn't dare look back. He just knew _he_ was there. Jacob didn't dare slow down until his body failed him.

He was forced to slow when his pants turned into wheezing and his legs trembled at the sudden sprint. Damn, how he wished for his younger days. Yes, he was not old enough to have an ailing body, but he was old enough that he could not keep up with the same stamina he did as a teenager.

Jacob composed himself when he came across a plaza. It was filled with people of lower-class Whitechapel, dressed in worn coats and dresses. Almost everyone danced to the cheery music that filled the air, and all were drinking and chatting happily.

The Assassin dared to relax as he weaved through the crowd, falling back on old instincts. Yes, he could blend in here, lose his pursuer. Maybe he could meet with Alexandra and Zachary, ensure they were safe. But he would never have that luxury. Jacob never made it to the other side of the party.

The festivities were shattered by an ear-piercing scream. Every hair stood on end as Jacob whirled around.

He was greeted with Jack the Ripper.

Jacob didn't want to call him a man. He stood over everyone present and his shoulders were twice as broad as Jacob's. There was a hunch to his back, but not enough to be identified to be a cripple. A leather coat wrapped around his body and tall, heeled boots reached up his legs. A tophat, similar to the ones Jacob used to love, rested on his head, shadowing his eyes. Or what should have been his eyes. Instead, there was only two round holes in the dirty, white bag that covered his head. Not even his face could be seen. Just those two round, dark, _horrible_ holes.

But those bottomless holes weren't focused on Jacob. Instead, they were focused on the constable that had dared to cross the Ripper's path. The Assassin watched as the menace's long, twisted blade dug into the man's stomach. Then again. And again. And again and again and again.

One scream turned into many. The sound of dancing turned into a stampede as the guests ran in all different directions. Several of them barged into Jacob and shoved him to the side, and he witnessed others being trampled. But his focus wasn't on them. His focus was on the thing that looked like man before him.

By now there was blood everywhere, just like crime scene. Jacob watched as the Ripper gave one final stab into the constable (who was long dead) and carved his blade into his belly. There was a sickening sound that carried across the courtyard as his organs fell onto the ground.

Jacob didn't shout or scream or breathe. He didn't run or turn or move. He just stood there, frozen, as he watched Jack the Ripper dropped his kill. He looked down on his work, like he was satisfied with himself. He didn't even notice the blood covering his clothes, mixing with the blood of his previous kills.

For a long moment, it was if time did not move.

Then suddenly Jack the Ripper looked up and straight at Jacob. The Mentor stared right into those dark holes and saw them. Those lifeless, _soulless_ eyes. No, this was not a man before him. This was a demon. A menace. A monster.

A thing Jacob had created. It was his Frankenstein. And it had come to destroy him.

Suddenly something foreign came over the Assassin. It first came from his chest, then it spread down his spine and through his entire body. An unknown instinct crawled its way into his mind and took over his thoughts. It was something Jacob never felt in his entire life, so it took him a long time to realize what it was.

Fear.

"Come on, you monster!" Jacob bellowed. "Let's be done with this!"

Jack the Ripper couldn't resist the invitation. He charged forward at an inhuman speed and crossed the courtyard in only a few steps. Jacob was already turning and tearing down the alleyway.

The chase went on.

But this time his pursuer wasn't a shadow. The Ripper stayed on his heels, close enough Jacob knew the killer had to reach out and take him. But he wouldn't. Because Jack wanted to enjoy this hunt. By now the fear was driving Jacob's actions.

His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed on, going as fast as his body would allow. He couldn't breathe. In desperation, he tossed a handful of smoke bombs onto the ground, one right after another, but it was useless. They would have no effect.

Somehow, the distance between the Assassin and the menace grew. Either because Jacob's frantic attempts worked, the Ripper had allowed him, or just dumb luck. It was dumber luck that he ran into a group of constables patrolling a graveyard. Ones he happened to know. At first they were startled at his appearance, especially when he skidded to a halt in front of them.

"There is a killer on my tail," Jacob told them, cursing he had to gasp between words. "You must stop him at all costs."

He needed time. Just a few seconds. To catch his breath. To ready his weapons. To accept that Death had come for him.

The constables exchanged bewildered glances but the head one, who had worked with the Assassin before, nodded. As Jacob slipped by, the group lined up to make a wall. A human shield.

There was no light in the graveyard. Just shadow and darkness. A fitting place for a last stand, Jacob supposed.

He slipped behind a tall gravestone and began to take note of his arsenal. Two hidden blades, two revolvers, his kukri blade, a handful of darts. With trembling hands, Jacob loaded both of his six-shot revolvers and then placed a dart into his gauntlet (he didn't know which kind, but he didn't care). The man pulled out his kukri blade, balancing it in his hands.

Then he heard the screams.

Chills crawled down his spine as the men he left behind let out wails of agony and terror, only to be cut short. With a gasp, Jacob pressed his back to the tombstone, just as he heard a thud on the far side of the graveyard. There was the sound of heavy footsteps on stone and the sound of something being dragged, like a bag across the ground.

Jacob swallowed, but his throat was so raw that the action was painful. He forced down that strange instinct— _fear_ —and mustered up the will that remained. He stepped out of his hiding place.

"Stop!"

Jack the Ripper paused. His body was silhouetted against the light of the window behind him. The eerie aura that surrounded him made him look like a sinister Angel of Death. He had already collected, as he clutched the still body of a constable. Once the monster noticed his true prey was right before him, in the open, he dropped his kill, now eager for the next.

"You want me, Jack?" Jacob demanded. He remembered. He remembered every one of their deaths. And their murderer was right in front of him. The Frye twin raised his voice to a harsh yell. " _Come and kill me_!"

* * *

"Zachary! Zachary, wake up!" Alexandra barked, grabbing her little brother's shoulder and shaking it.

The ten-year-old boy mumbled in his sleep and shifted, trying to shake her off. He had gotten his looks from his mother—he had reddish hair that curled around his ears. The candlelight reflected off his fair skin, a trait the rest of the family shared. His green eyes blinked open when Alexandra shook him further.

"What is it?" the boy asked sleepily. The older Assassin knew she shouldn't blame him for being tired. He had been training all day.

"Come, we're leaving," she whispered, but her voice was full of urgency.

"We are we going?"

"Crawley."

"We're leaving London?"

That seemed to wake the boy up. Zachary blinked and stared up at her in confusion, as if asking for answers. Alexandra could give him none. Her and her father were careful to keep him from the plague of terror that had stricken the Brotherhood. But Zachary was still an Assassin apprentice, and brighter than any of them gave him credit. He was well aware something was wrong, even if no one humored him.

"Should I get my things?" Zachary asked, already slipping out of bed.

Alexandra thanked God that he was a bright boy and already knew what to do. So many times he must have seen a member of his family barge in, pack a suitcase and disappear without a word. Usually that would be the case now, but Alexandra felt her instincts twisting, screaming of danger. They didn't have time for that.

"No, just get dressed," she ordered.

Zachary nodded and scurried to his dresser, pulling out a handful of clothes. Meanwhile Alexandra wandered off to her own room. If they were to cross the English countryside with a killer on their tail, they would need more protection that the small knife she hid in her dress. Even the short walk between rooms was intolerable.

The corset squeezed the air from her lungs and for the thousandth time that night, she stepped on her skirt. She thought she was getting better, but the panic that had seized her had thrown out all her experience. Causing her to take far too long to reach her home.

Giving up, Alexandra began to tear off the dress. Quite literally, as the fabric ripped in protest at her rough handling. It was gorgeous dress, she would not lie, and so were the handful of others she had purchased. As if wearing a modest dress wasn't enough, her father was not pleased when she decided to go undercover as a whore. More so when his plan backfired, and Jack the Ripper caught on almost instantly.

Now the madman was hunting down any Assassin sent to spy on him. And that included Alexandra. Which meant she was next.

The young woman dressed quickly. She slipped on a pair of dark trousers and a pair of tall boots. Over her vest, she put on a long, leather coat, the same one her Auntie Evie used to wear. It was a gift for her initiation to the Brotherhood. Once changed, Alexandra grabbed her gift from her uncle, Henry Green. A curved dagger, called a kukri. She would need it. The Assassin snatched the rest of her things and stalked out of the room. She shivered at the sudden chill, provoking her to walk over to the open window and close it.

"Zachary, let's go!" Alexandra called.

No reply.

"Zachary?"

The Assassin's skin crawled when she was greeted with silence. Instinctively, she stepped into a crouch and her footsteps went silent. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her stomach twisted. A hidden, ancient instinct within her stirred and warned of danger, like faint whispers. Kukri in hand, Alexandra stepped into her brother's room.

"Zachary!"

Immediately the boy, half-dressed, jumped off the bed with a yelp. Only for him to land in a heap on the floor.

"What are you doing?!" Alexandra demanded. Zachary's cheeks were red when he realized he was caught red-handed.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I was just so tired. I only laid my head down for a minute."

"We don't have a minute. Come on, let's get you dressed."

Realizing he couldn't be left unintended, Alexandra snatched his coat and pulled it on his shoulders while the boy furiously buckled his beat. The older sister, though peeved, felt a little guilty at her harsh snap. She couldn't blame Zachary for not knowing what was going on, and not feeling the same panic as her.

"You can sleep in the carriage, alright?" she assured him. "But we need to leave right now."

Zachary nodded, finally understanding. Then he looked behind her.

Immediately his pale skin turned deathly white and his eyes widened. He mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but the words were taken from him. Alexandra didn't have the chance to ask him what was wrong.

"Cute boy…" a deep, gravelly, _terrible_ voice said.

Alexandra's blood instantly turned to ice. She leaped to her feet and whirled around, holding out her blade in defense.

It was _him_.

"Jack," Alexandra hissed, saying it like a curse.

The Ripper was standing in the doorway, unfazed. He took a step forward. Alexandra took a step back, pushing Zachary behind her.

"Stay away from him!" she shouted.

"Oh, it's not him I want," Jack purred, his voice not even sounding human. Suddenly a wicked-looking knife appeared in his hands. The same knife that took the lives of his victims. The killer twirled it in his fingers, unfazed by the sharp blade. "You thought you could double-cross me and get away with it?"

"I am not the traitor," Alexandra spat, holding out the kukri further, like a priest waving a cross in front of a demon.

"You're no smarter than your father."

The mention of the man caught the Assassin's attention.

"Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Jack tilted his head. The woman could practically see the sadistic smile on his lips.

"Dead," he answered.

It was like someone punched her the gut. She stayed on her feet, but it was hard.

"You're lying," Alexandra retorted.

"We can go and see him, if you like. I'll even let you die by his side." Suddenly Jack's gaze turned to Zachary. "Maybe your brother can watch?"

Her little brother's whimper of fear was all it took. With a roar, Alexandra twisted her hold on her weapon and charged forward. Jack raised his knife in defense and braced.

Falling back on her training, Alexandra feinted to the right. Her opponent flinched in the direction, ready to meet her. At the last moment, the Assassin _switched hands_ , sending her kukri blade from her right hand to her left. Jack now exposed, she raised her weapon to his chest.

Only for the Ripper catch her wrist.

Caught in her own momentum, Alexandra stumbled forward, stopping right before she rammed into him. But it was still too close for comfort. Their bodies were a matter of inches apart, and their faces were closer. She could have felt his breath, if he wasn't wearing that stupid mask.

"Did you like my display tonight?" Jack suddenly asked. He tried to ask it in a whisper, but it was like his vocal cords couldn't do it. "Left it just for you and your father."

Suddenly Katey and Lizzie's bloody, violated bodies flashed before her eyes. Her comrades. Her friends. Alexandra felt the rage in her chest.

With another scream, the woman flicked her wrist, unsheathing her hidden blade. She sent it towards Jack's stomach, to _rip him out_ , but his knife intercepted her strike. He batted her weapon away and gave her a shove. Alexandra stumbled backwards, trying to catch her balance, but was denied when her opponent sent a kick to her chest. The back of her head landed on the desk with a _crack_.

She let out a wail of pain as she crashed onto the hard floor. Darkness already surrounded the edges of her vision. Suddenly everything became muted, but she could just make out her brother's shout.

" _Alexandra_!" Zachary screamed.

"Zachary, run!" Alexandra ordered, unable to hear her own voice.

But apparently, Zachary did hear her. He took off, but the only exit was the door, guarded by Jack. The little Assassin tried to skirt around the menace, only for Jack to catch him by his throat. Zachary choked defenselessly as the Ripper raised him off the floor with a single hand.

" _Leave them alone!"_

* * *

Alexandra saw the ghost of Jacob Frye, and then the world disappeared.

Jacob Frye didn't know how he managed to survive. Maybe there really was a guardian angel. Or Jack just let him live. A deep cut was on his side and his knee throbbed with pain, but somehow, he managed to make to his home. Only to find that Alexandra and Zachary were still there, and they were not alone.

Jack the Ripper had gotten there first.

At his yell, Jacob sliced his blade across Jack's back. The monster had moved at the last second, so it wasn't as deep at the Assassin had hoped, but it gotten his attention. Zachary was tossed across the room with a wail. Then Jacob saw the knife coming for his face.

The Mentor ducked just in time, only for something solid to slam into his chest. He wheezed as he was sent back, but caught his balance just in time to use his hidden blade to block Jack's next attack. Only to be shoved back again. The Ripper sent one strike after another, each one more ruthless than the last, forcing Jacob to desperately evade his attacks. The man hissed when the knife sliced into his skin.

The Assassin struck out his own blade in defense, only for Jack to catch and twist it at an odd angle until there was a sickening _crack_. Jacob screamed in pain and pushed himself away, trying to gain distance. He barely stayed on his feet. He knew he was at a disadvantage.

Jack was over a decade younger than him and was not hindered by an aging body. He was stronger, faster, smarter. And much, _much_ more ruthless.

Jacob could accept his own death. But he rather be damned than allow the monster to take his family, too. Jacob let out a roar as he charged again, and the fight continued.

The two traded blows, sending attack after attack, never pausing for breath. Horrible sounds of breaking furniture and shattering pottery pierced the air, along with their grunts and growls. It wasn't long before it was obvious who was winning and who was losing.

Jacob struck with both his hidden blades, only for Jack to easily catch his wrists, stopping his attack. He gasped as Jack slammed his head into his brow with a furious roar. The Mentor was sent reeling back, left defenseless as the Ripper delivered a volley of relentless blows. Jacob was sent into the floor, tasting blood. He glanced up just in time to see the knife coming for him.

He scrambled back just as the blade impeded in the wooden floor with a _thunk_. The man tried to get as far away as his attacker as possible, only to slam into a coffee table and send its occupants onto the floor with a crash. He looked up to see the Jack the Ripper standing over him. He was trapped.

"Don't you see the irony, _brother_?" the monster drawled, approaching him like a predator nearing its prey. Jacob raised his hands, trying to show he was unarmed.

"Jack, you're sick," he said, his voice almost pleading. The Ripper ignored him.

"Only you know who 'the Ripper' is, but you can't tell a living soul!" The monster knelt next to him, waving his gleaming knife in front of his captive's face. "Because it would destroy you… and the Assassins."

Jacob's gaze flicked from the knife to a book shelf behind the Ripper. There, hidden between a pair of volumes, was his pistol. His only chance.

The man reached behind him, trying to find _anything_ he could use for defense. His fingers wrapped around the stem of a candlestick. Acting quickly, Jacob swung it around into Jack's head with a yell. The monster let out a grunt of surprise and pain, recoiling. Allowing Jacob to escape.

"No, no, no, NO!" the Ripper screamed.

Jacob flew towards the pistol, but he wasn't fast enough. A heavy object slammed into his back, sending him back onto the floor. He rolled over just in time to see Jack leaping off the table, pouncing at him. The Mentor wheezed as the _heavy_ weight of the Ripper landed on top of him. Jacob caught him, pushing back the knife aimed for his chest. Jack shoved him back down, arm leaning on his throat.

"Jack, we can _fix_ you," Jacob promised, but his voice was strained from the pressure on his neck.

"Fix _me_?" Jack echoed, his harsh voice filled with offense. " _I_ am the _solution_!"

The knife coming down on him was the last thing Jacob Frye ever saw.


	2. Chapter 2

_August 31_ _st_ _, 1888_

 _Mentor,_

 _You were right to place us in Whitechapel. The rest of London sees this place as a cesspool of crime and villainy, but many struggle to simply make it to the next day. They work to merely get food on their plates or to stay in their homes. Some instead spend it on liquor and… other pleasures. Over a month I have watch the people that live here—either from the corner of streets or my suite in the local brothel. I hear their daily conversation and whispers in alleyways. They speak of a shadow that lurks in the bowels of this borough. I never get a description, but they say he is a phantom that haunts the alleys and floats across rooftops. Since you told us to investigate, I followed these claims, and I spotted him, Mentor. A menace of the night. The rogue is here, hiding in Whitechapel. What he plots, I hav—_

 _Mentor, I saw him! As I was writing this letter, I heard a strange sound. I looked out the window to investigate and he was there, standing across the street. Staring at me. I fear he knows I am here, and why I have come. Jacob, you must hurry!_

 _Your disciple,_

 _Mary Ann Nicholas_

* * *

The first thing Alexandra felt was pain. It pounded within her skull, like a hammer. The young woman furrowed her eyebrows, as the edges of consciousness pushed away her dreamless sleep. It was then she felt something warm and soft wrapped around her, her head pressing against a plush object. A bed…?

Alexandra blinked open her eyes, only for her vision to be filled with a bright light. The Assassin hissed in protest and shut her eyes. Suddenly she felt a shift with a squeak (bed frame?) and something brushed against her leg. She opened her eyes again, this time forcing them to stay open long enough for her vision to adjust to the candle set on the table across from her.

Something brushed her leg again. Confused, Alexandra glanced up. She almost screamed.

 _He_ was right there, staring down at her.

"Good morning, my pet," Jack the Ripper purred. "Did you sleep well?"

Suddenly the memory of what happened the night before flooded her mind. He had murdered her friends, and tried to kill her and her family, and he was being _casual_? It took a full moment for everything to rush through Alexandra's head. She said the first word she could process.

" _Monster_ ," she snarled. Alexandra went to pounce. There was only a few inches between them. This time she wouldn't hesitate and finish what they started.

But she never did.

Her body jerked, signaling it had received her command, but did not move. What? Alexandra tried again—willed her body to push off the bed, to near Jack, to strangle him—nothing. As far as she got was rolling over onto her back, but that only reward her a clearer view of the monster. And for the pounding in her head to intensify.

"What did you do to me?" Alexandra gasped. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The last thing she remembered was Jack pushing her and her head hitting the desk. What if it caused something horrible? Left her crippled?

"I took the liberty to have some precautions," Jack explained, as if assuring her. Once again Alexandra felt something move across her leg to rest on her thigh. She realized with disgust it was the monster's hand. "The paralysis should wear off in a day or two."

Alexandra grinded her teeth in fury. Robbed. Robbed of her friends, her home, and now her free will. Rendered useless. And he was _amused_.

She tried to move again, rewarded with another jerk, this one accompanied with a _clanking_ sound. Wha—? It was then the Assassin registered something cold and tight around her wrist. She glanced at it, trying to see with her awkward angle. Her fear was confirmed.

A metal cuff was attached to her wrist, a steel chain hanging off the bed… attached to the wall by the head. Jack must have noticed her look of horror.

"Just in case it wears off a little early," he said. "Don't want you wandering around, now, do we?"

Alexandra gritted her teeth. Not only was she deprived of her free will—she was chained. Like an animal. Like a _slave_.

"You… you bastard…" she snarled, like a rapid animal.

"Sh... calm down now," Jack chided.

The Assassin flinched when his gloved hand moved from her thigh to her flank, holding her down. The contact made her realize most of her clothing had been removed, left only in her undershirt and trousers. All her weapons, gone.

The thought filled with the Assassin with shame. She had faced the murderer, armed and prepared for his arrival, but she had lost in a matter of seconds. Years of training, squandered. The memory of the fight flashed across her eyes, then she realized.

He had come for _her_. To kill her like he killed the others. She remembered when he easily caught her attack. The murderer could have easily ripped her, made her the next victim of his wave of crimes. Another body for the police to inspect. But he _didn't_. She was _alive_. _Why_?

"What do you _want_?" Alexandra hissed.

"What I've always wanted," Jack replied, like it was obvious. "Freedom for all, death to tyrants and bastards, London to be cleansed of filth and rot."

"No, this is not our way!"

"This is _my_ Creed."

Alexandra flinched. For the first time, she was able to see his eyes. They were an empty silver—lifeless, even. But she was well aware there was a madness behind them, a twisted version of reality—and of the Creed. The woman remembered her father's words.

 _"_ _Jack is sick,"_ he had warned. _"It's in his mind. He doesn't understand things like the rest of us. We must help him."_

But Jack the Ripper couldn't be helped. He proved that when he slaughtered his fellow sisters and—

"My father," Alexandra gasped. She remembered. He was _there_. "Where is my father?!"

"He's alive," Jack assured. "A little worse for the wear, but alive… At least, when I left him."

The young woman hid her relief. "I don't think I asked that."

Suddenly Jack made a strange noise. It took the prisoner a full moment to realize it was a short laugh. It sounded like rocks clapping against each other.

"That's all you should concern yourself with, my pet," the madman insisted. Alexandra tried to shrink away when he began to stroke her side. Like a _pet_.

"I want to see him!"

"…No." Alexandra hated how easily he refused her. As if it was a reminder that she was in no position to make demands. She opened her mouth to curse at him, but Jack tilted his head. "After all, I'm sure you want him to stay in one piece?"

His voice dropped to a dark tone and Alexandra understood his threat. He was tired of her questions, and he was hanging Jacob's life over her head. Fury replaced the dread in her stomach.

Nothing. She knew nothing. Because Jack refused to tell her. Why she was here and why did he take her father? Why did _they_ die, but she was still alive?!

Alexandra settled for glaring murderously at the monster, but the Ripper seemed oblivious as he continued his slow, calculated strokes. His hand slid from her side to her stomach. The young woman shivered as he turned his hand over, having his knuckles brush her other flank. His eyes disappeared in the holes of his mask again, but he seemed captivated, watching her reactions. As if he was testing how much he could mess with her.

Alexandra refused to give the lunatic the pleasure, instead focusing on her staring contest. Until Jack's hand traveled lower.

Some instinct kicked in, stirred by the mere idea of being violated. Her arm moved.

She snatched the Ripper's wrist before he could reach her groin. His reaction was immediate.

Alexandra gasped as suddenly Jack jerked away, painfully twisting her arm, which was now clasped to his. The wicked knife materialized in his free hand, its sharp blade pressing against her wrist.

"Understand something, little girl," Jack growled, his voice dark and dangerous. "I get to touch you wherever I like."

"See me like the _Mona Lisa_ ," Alexandra retorted. "Look, but you lay your hand on me, then it's the last thing you will ever do on God's green Earth. _Go to hell_ , you vile demon."

The prisoner saw her captor's cold eyes narrow. She let out a yelp as the knife sliced into her skin, leaving a crimson line. It only grew larger as blood oozed from the wound. The dull pain came next, spreading across her arm until it was throbbing. Alexandra refused to show her discomfort. The cut was deep, but not enough to kill her.

Jack twisted her arm again, straining it even more, so he could see the damage he made. He seemed to have forgotten his exploration, but was now fascinated by the blood. It was already pouring from her wrist onto the sheets, turning the ivory cloth red. Just like the sheets that covered his victims.

"Beautiful thing, isn't it?" Jack suddenly mused. Alexandra thought he was talking about the blood.

"It's not," she argued. Like the rest of their conversation, the Ripper ignored her.

"It's amazing how we take life for granted, when it's so precious, so _fleeting_. With just a flick of a knife, _gone_. Just like that." Their eyes locked and Jack asked her, "Have you seen it? A person's last breath? Watched the life drain from their eyes?"

Alexandra gulped, a familiar face flashing across vision. She hated her answer. "Yes."

"Then don't pretend you don't know me."

Just like that, Jack the Ripper removed his hands from her and stood. He looked like a giant looming over her.

"It's true you were an Assassin, Jack," Alexandra forced out, the very words tasting bitter and vile. Like it was a lie against reality. But it was _true_. "But it's _not_ the same."

Jack snorted. "You're as stubborn and stupid as Jacob and the rest of them. But I won't hold you to that. Not your fault you were blinded by a weak Creed."

Alexandra snarled, baring her fangs. She meant to retort, but suddenly the Ripper snatched her collar. He pulled her up into a sitting position, but her body was numb and limp, unable to hold herself up. Jack did for her as he placed a strong hand on her shoulder. His other hand cupped her cheek, tilting her gaze up to look into his. Alexandra tried to flinch away, but she knew it was useless.

She was his prisoner. His slave. His doll. His pet. And they both knew it.

"You'll see soon enough, my pet," he promised in his distorted whisper.

The young woman shivered again when he brushed a thumb across her cheek. Suddenly he closed the distance between, leaning down to near his face to hers. A chill crawled down her spine. He was closer than the last time, not even an inch. She could look into those holes and see those terrible eyes.

"You will behave," Jack hissed, his rumbling voice like the Devil's. "You will be mine…"

"Never," Alexandra snapped with venom.

"Then I'll just have to increase the dosage."

At first the captive was confused. Then Alexandra screamed as the syringe buried in her neck.

* * *

Alexandra was still unable to move when she woke up next. That was an understatement.

There were a few moments where the girl couldn't even open her eyelids, and when she finally did, it was hard to close them. She couldn't move her jaw—and she couldn't feel her tongue—so she wouldn't be able to talk anytime soon. Like it would matter, considering how useless her last conversation was. The rest of her body was strangely numb. Not only could she not move, or even jerk this time, she could not _feel_. It was like her body was made of jelly—shapeless and weak.

Alexandra wondered how she was not dead. She had been warned the consequences of too strong of a dosage—regardless of the poison. Because the poison always went to the heart, and if the heart was to die, so did the body. The girl knew this poison. It was a potion the British Assassins learned from their Indian brothers. But this was different.

Although the young Assassin never felt it, she knew its effects. She had seen a full-grown man's entire body lock up within seconds of being poisoned, like they were captured by some invisible force. Alexandra didn't feel like she was being held—it felt all her energy had been sapped from her. Had Jack the Ripper modified it somehow?

The paralysis was slow to wear off, true to his word. Alexandra's senses were the first to return. She determined nothing had changed during her comatose state—she still felt the same soft sheets of the same bed. The cool air seeped through her thin fabric and touched her skin. Not only was she in a room without light, but without any source of warmth. The prisoner was still aware of the clamp around her wrist.

Even with her senses restored, the strange numbness still lingered, even when her movement began to return. First it was minute motions—twitching of her fingers, moving her jaw, curling her toes. The jerks came next, like when she first woke up. Her arm would twitch, only to be locked in place. A side effect she was more familiar with. Eventually she could roll over to her side.

That was when _he_ returned.

"Sleep well, my pet?" Jack inquired.

The same question he asked when she first awoke in this hellhole. Alexandra's eyes were closed, so she didn't know how he knew she was awake. She continued to feign sleep, even regulating her breathing. The Ripper was not fooled.

"You should be hungry by now," he observed.

Alexandra still did not say anything, even though she hated that he was right. As the numbness wore off, another sensation replaced it. Pain. First it was a dull ache in Alexandra's head. The woman couldn't keep a long strain of thought without it being broken by the discomfort. Then she felt the twisting her gut. She thought it was nerves at first, until it intensified as the paralysis faded.

Yes, she was hungry. But she wouldn't tell Jack that.

"I'm not going to give you anything unless you ask," he went on. "Or you'll starve."

Alexandra wanted to snort. He turned to trying to use her weaknesses to assort his dominance. She would expect that from a Templar, but not one claiming to be an Assassin. Then again, she was finding it harder and harder to tell the difference between Templars and Jack the Ripper—but she certainly knew who was worse.

"I know you're awake," the captor went on, his rumbling voice closer. "No need to ignore me."

Alexandra ignored him.

There was a silence for a few moments and the woman hoped he left. Only for her fleeting moment to vanish when the bed frame squeak from a heavy weight. From Jack.

 _Go away_ , Alexandra wished. She still couldn't move enough to strike him. Never mind put up a fight. Then she couldn't help but flinch when the Ripper laid a hand across her back.

"Ah, there you are," he murmured, sounding pleased that he caught her.

 _He wants the attention. Don't give it to him._

Although trained like one, Jack didn't think like an Assassin. He didn't want a life of secrecy—he wanted to be known. All serial killers wanted attention. He proved that with his letters he sent. To the journalists, the Scotland Yard, and even to other Assassins. Alexandra still remembered the terror she felt when she received a personal letter, resting on the windowsill of her bedroom. Although now, she preferred a worrisome letter than the situation she was in now.

Alexandra remained stubborn, but tensed her muscles as Jack stroke her back, almost soothingly. She hated it. It was how her father would comfort her. There were times she would scream into a night from a nightmare, and Jacob was there, every time. He would stay be her side, comfort her, until the fear subsided enough for her to allow sleep to return.

But this wasn't her father. She didn't wake up from a nightmare. She was living it.

There was no way this could be real. A single man could have destroyed a Brotherhood. A single man could have defeated her family. A single man could be a _monster_. It made no sense. It made no bloody sense. How could any of this be real?

But Alexandra felt it, deep down in her gut. It _was_ real. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

"You're cold," Jack suddenly murmured, breaking the heavy silence. Was she? "You're shivering."

Alexandra realized he was right. Her body was trembling. Not violent, but not subtle enough to escape a trained killer's notice. She didn't know why. Was it the cold? Fear? Or the paralysis? Or maybe it was a combination of the three. Jack paused his strokes to pull the sheets to her shoulder.

"Better?" he hummed, like he expected an answer.

 _Why do you care?_ the Assassin wanted to bite. The Ripper answered like she said it aloud.

"Don't want you getting sick."

 _Oh._ That was why he was suddenly concerned over her health.

"Why keep me alive?" Alexandra asked through a mutter.

"Hmm?"

Finally the prisoner opened a single eye. He was right there, so close she could wring his neck. But she couldn't. Instead she repeated her question. Jack's eyes narrowed, either in amusement or disdain. The woman honestly couldn't tell.

"Because I need you alive," he said plainly. Oh, how much Alexandra wanted to kill him.

"That's _not_ an answer," she retorted.

"'Course it is."

Oh, God, now he was being a _child_. Only a night before (Or a few nights before? How long had she been here?), he had brutally slaughtered a pair of women and was prepared to do the same to her family. But Jack had mood swings for as long as she could remember. If only they had paid more attention to it…

"I _need_ you alive, _Alexandra_ ," Jack confirmed, continuing to stroke her back. Chills crawled up and down her spine when he said her name.

"As your prisoner," the woman realized.

"As my _guest_. Do you really hate me so?"

"The fact you ask that shows how screwed in the head you are."

Suddenly Jack snatched her shoulder in a firm grip. Remembering the last time she spoken out, she expected him to cut her again. Instead, he turned her to lay on her back, so the prisoner was forced to look up at him.

"I want to _save_ the Brotherhood," the monster said, as if he believed it. "It has been ruled by a weak Creed for far too long."

"You're wrong!" Alexandra spat. "The Creed is what makes us who we are! Guides us! Gives us wisdom!"

"Gives us _lies_. It doesn't nothing but restrain us. We rot in our cage of tradition and blind faith, while the Templars feed off our flesh like scavengers."

Alexandra shook her head as much as the paralysis would allow. "It's what makes us _strong_."

"Look where it's gotten you."

It was like he had taken his knife and buried it in her stomach. The Assassin opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She had no response to that. Jack looked pleased with himself. He had won, _again_.

"But if you want to be that way, so be it," the traitor huffed.

He finally stood (Alexandra gave a silent sigh of relief that his hands were away from her). He turned, walking toward the direction what she assumed was the door.

"Let's see how long your stubbornness last…"

The door slammed shut with a bang, once again leaving Alexandra alone.

* * *

Alexandra slipped in and out of unconsciousness, always waking up to the same state to the same silence. The prisoner hadn't seen Jack since his last visit. In fact, she hadn't seen _anything_. The candle that had lit the room previously was gone or out, having darkness surround the Assassin. There were times she couldn't tell the difference between her eyes being open or closed, and even questioned if she was even awake.

In the end, all Alexandra could do was think. Or accurately, curse herself. Defenseless. Helpless. She had the chance to kill the most gruesome murderer ever to walk the streets of London, and now she was completely at his mercy. It seemed like Jack wanted to keep her here, but for how long? What was to stop him from gutting her like her friends? Maybe that was his plan.

She remembered each of the murders were roughly a month apart. He was waiting, then. Waiting for the people and Scotland Yard to lower its guard with the false sense of peace, only to reminded there was a serial killer among them. And that reminder would be _her_. Even with her numb state, Alexandra could feel her stomach churning. No, that couldn't be her fate.

She vowed to serve the Creed—and that her last breath would be for fighting for the Brotherhood. To protect the people with her very life. Alexandra closed her eyes and familiar voice echoed in her mind.

 _"_ _You are Alexandra… 'Defender of Mankind.' That is what you are named."_

How could she defend humanity, if she couldn't defend herself? No, she couldn't die like this, at the hands of a madman. And what of her family?

Were they to suffer the same fate? Had they already? Jack claimed Jacob was alive—but only the night before that he said the Mentor was dead, when that wasn't the case. What if he lied again? That Jacob was already dead? And then poor Zachary…

His scream of terror was the last thing Alexandra remembered of him. Did the Ripper take his blood as well? Or did he lock the boy up as well, and he was in his own hole? Alexandra did not know which was worse—the thought of her dear father dead, or the thought of her little brother alone and terrified.

Oh, how she wished Auntie Evie was here. While Jacob was reckless and spirited, Evie was calm and calculating. She would know what to do. She could be stern at times, but she was loving and kind.

" _Focus, Alexandra,"_ she would be saying. _"You're a warrior—an Assassin."_

But she was in India, on the other side of the world. Busy leading a whole Brotherhood of her own alongside her husband, Henry Green, while raising her troublesome sons. Alexandra remembered Jacob had sent a letter, requesting for her help, but it would take _months_ for her to reply. Even with trains and steam-boats, the letter had a long way to travel, and so did Auntie Evie, if she even agreed to come.

Thinking of her aunt made Alexandra realize—what if she _did_ come? Only for her family to be gone? The Master Assassin would beside herself. No doubt she would tear the city apart in order to find her loved ones, but why would she suspect a killer of prostitutes to be the downfall of the British Brotherhood?

Alexandra prayed Inspector Frederick Abberline would be able to fill the gaps, or better yet, find a _lead_ , but she knew that would be unlikely. Abberline had been a dear friend of the Frye family long before she was born. He was the one that aided Jacob in his hunt for Jack—but the men were looking for a different target. Jacob hunted for a traitor; Abberline searched for a murderer. The same perpetrator, but there could only be so much the two could tell each other.

The prisoner's train of thought covered the same subjects after that—Jack the Ripper, her family, the investigation, the poor situation she found herself in. Over and over. She thought of countless possibilities—how things could have been different, and how this nightmare could end. But it was always the same.

Alexandra felt weaker with each cycle. But it wasn't her body, but her _spirit_. Her ideas became less and less hopeful. Her rage became quieter and quieter. Her thoughts more and more solemn. She was alone. She was at the mercy of a madman. No one could save her. London was dead.

 _"_ _Remember, my beautiful,"_ a voice suddenly whispered in her mind. _"You can always walk out of the darkness, as long as you search for the light."_

The woman's cycle of thoughts stopped. _No._ She would not meet her end like this. She was a warrior. She was a Defender of Mankind. She was an Assassin.

Alexandra would fight, as she always had. And she would escape.


	3. Chapter 3

_November 1_ _st_ _, 1888_

 _Mera pyaar,_

 _I have made it to Europe safety. I heeded your advice and went the overland route, which saved some time. There were a few incidents with the usual Templars, but nothing I could not handle. My journey has been aided by our European brothers, who tell me what they know of the British Brotherhood. I have gotten mixed responses. Some say they have not heard of any news from the British, but when I was in Germany, they assured me they had received a letter from England only a month before. It wasn't until I reached our French our French brothers in Paris, I was told something disturbing. They tell me that they have received no word of the British Brotherhood in months. The letters they send are never answered. We both know this is unlike my brother—silence is the one thing he could never master. The French have given me shelter and have offered to escort me across the Channel. I plan to depart in the morning. But every day I grow more worried and now I fear my destination more than I had before. What has my little brother gotten into?_

 _Your love,_

 _Evie Frye_

* * *

London was _freezing._ Evie Frye wondered how she ever survived such damp conditions, or maybe living twenty years in the heat of India had spoiled her. Whatever it was, it was no doubt a rapid change of setting for the Master Assassin. India was still in lush green summer, with the pressuring heat of the jungle made thick clothing almost unbearable. But in London, the early days of November were filled with ice covering the cobblestone streets and a thick overcast hanging across the sky.

Evie wished she had brought a warm coat, instead of just the blue, embroidered jacket she wore with her white trousers. Naturally her attire caused stares, for several reasons, even from the pair of constables that met her at the docks. Surprise was one way to describe how she felt.

"So are you gentlemen are going to tell me why I am being escorted?" the woman asked the pair of blue-coated constables across from her. The men exchanged reluctant looks. One decided to humor her.

"It's for your protection, ma'am," he said.

Evie cocked a single eyebrow and gave him a sideways stare with one eye—one of her sons called it her "mother stare." Apparently, it had the same effect on a grown man of the law as her disobedient child. He continued on after an uncomfortable pause.

"London isn't quite the same since the last time you were here."

The Englishwoman glanced out the window of the carriage. At first she was greeted with her reflection—stress of running a Brotherhood and raising a family had caught up to her. Her hair was more silver than brown, pulled back in the same bun she had used for years. The cold had already gotten to her—turning her lips blue and her skin pale. With a sigh, Evie looked past her reflection to the city beyond.

The streets of the grand city were eerily empty. Only a thin crowd mingled, all huddled up in thick clothing, walking briskly from one building to the next. Like the people feared that staying out too long would mean danger. Almost every shutter was closed tight, and Evie even noticed a sharp eye peering at her from a window before it quickly vanished.

The Frye twin frowned and mumbled, "You could say that again."

"Miss Frye," a curt voice greeted.

"Inspector Abberline," Evie replied, nodding her head.

Frederick Abberline ignored her, instead staring out the icy window. The man had changed dramatically since the last time the woman saw him.

His golden hair had turned silver and the thick beard he once had was shaven to where only a thick mustache remained. His brown eyes, once bright with ideas and intelligence, were now sunken and dull with a calculating and sullen nature. He seemed skinnier, too, as his winter coat loosely hung off his shoulders. It looked like he had a missed a few meals. Evie decided she didn't like his tone, either. Once he greeted the Frye twins with excitement—now his voice was as cold as the air outside.

"Why exactly am I here?" the Assassin questioned. Abberline finally glanced at her with a hard glare.

"I am sure on your way to England, you have heard rumors of the string of murders that have been plaguing London?" the inspector replied with a question of his own.

Evie shifted uncomfortably, as his words sounded like an interrogation, but nodded. "I have heard a word or two. Something about a murderer called 'Jack the Ripper'?"

Abberline gave a single nod and turned.

"My men and I have been hunting the Ripper 'round the clock for months now, and we have nothing to show for it," he explained as he crossed the room to his coat rack. The inspector plucked off his bowl hat from the top and turned to face his guest, who was listening intently. "At least, nothing I can tell the public."

Evie squinted in her confusion. "What has the Ripper do with me? My brother had me summoned here from India—can't this wait?"

"As far as I know, you may be the last Assassin in London…"

The inspector might as well have pulled a gun on her, and the Assassin would have processed it better. The last Assassin in London? That was impossible! She exchanged letters with her brother regularly—even the one that summoned her mentioned Jacob's Brotherhood was still active. Dozens of Assassins operated in the city alone. And if she was the last…

"What do you mean?" Evie demanded, advancing on Abberline. "Where's Jacob?"

"I wish I knew…" the inspector sighed. "Your brother is nowhere to be found… ever since that night…"

"What night? When?"

"Over a month ago, Jacob was attacked in his lodgings. That was the last time anybody saw him alive."

Evie felt her stomach twist. Abberline used a serious tone, but he said it like a detective scribbling notes at a crime scene, not talking about her dear brother.

"Attacked by _who_?" the Master Assassin demanded.

Evie felt her heart quickening. Jacob's letter mentioned a rise of Templars, and how a menace was stalking his Brotherhood. An Assassin Hunter? Was this "Jack the Ripper" behind this?

"An elusive killer committing the most hideous crimes this city has ever seen," was Abberline's only answer as he stepped out of the room.

"And you believe this is no coincidence?" Evie was putting the pieces together and picking up on the inspector's underling tone.

"The killer is selective and dispassionate, and has left not a single trace of his passage." Suddenly Abberline halted and rounded on her. "I have seen such talent for assassination and avoiding detection only once before… when I worked with the two of you." Evie fixed him with a hard stare, urging him to get to the point. "And _that_ is why your brother summoned you… before he disappeared."

So not only attacked. _Taken_. Or worse. The woman's thoughts were already moving on to the next priority.

"What happened to Jacob's family? His children?" she pressed. Abberline glanced at her again.

"Zachary's downstairs. I'll take you to him," Abberline assured.

Zachary? Unfortunately Evie never met him. The boy was born when Jacob returned to London after visiting her in India. The father sent her letters, practically boasting of his son's growth and training (Jacob made everything a competition). How old was the boy now? Nine? Ten? The Assassin had another question. What in the world was Zachary doing _here_?

It didn't make the aunt feel any better they went to the barracks at the back of the police station. Abberline nodded to the constable standing outside the doorway, like a guard.

"I should warn you," Abberline murmured to her. "He's been… sensitive, since the incident. Please be gentle with him."

Evie frowned and nodded. They stepped inside. It took a moment for the woman to recognize her nephew.

Zachary had considerably grown several inches since last picture Jacob sent her, but he looked thinner than a boy his age should be. His eyes were bloodshot and dull, and his red hair was mangy. A red line was on his brow, no doubt turning into a scar. He was curled up on the hard mattress of the bed, hugging his knees and staring into space. This wasn't the lively little boy Evie was told of. This was a shell.

"Zachary?" she probed gently. Abberline stayed back while the woman cautiously neared him. "Zachary, it's Auntie Evie."

Thankfully she got a response. Zachary snapped his gaze towards her the moment she settled by the bed.

"A-Auntie Evie?" he echoed. His voice cracked, like it hadn't been used recently. The boy stared at her almost in disbelief, as if he thought she was just a figment of imagination.

"Yes, deary, it's me," she whispered, giving one of her rare, warm smiles. Evie felt a pang of guilt she never knew him personally. No doubt she was like a stranger to him.

She was going to try to coo him with assurances, gain his trust, but didn't have to. Without warning, Zachary lunged at her. He wrapped his arms around her neck, tightly, and buried his face in her bosom. Already she could hear his muffled sniffling.

At first Evie was surprised at the sudden reaction, but slowly, cautiously, she returned the embrace and held her nephew in a protective hold.

"Sh, there, there," she hummed.

Evie placed her head on top of his and shifted to where she could sit on the bed, rocking gently. Zachary cried in her arms. His sobs weren't ear-piercing or violent, just pitiful sounds smothered by her coat.

"H-he hurt him," Zachary whimpered. "He hurt Father."

Evie didn't ask. Abberline told her enough. Zachary only trembled in her hold.

"And he h-h-hurt Alexandra, too," the boy sniffed.

Evie's blood went cold. _That_ was a detail Abberline failed to mention. She sent a glare at the Inspector, but the man was already looking away again. Breaking the embrace, Evie pulled away and gently wrapped her hands around Zachary's neck. She titled his head to look up at him.

"What do you mean, Zachary?" she asked, trying to be soft and keep the urgency from her voice. "Where is your sister?"

The Assassin regretted her choice of words, because there were more tears in the boy's eyes.

"He took her!" he sobbed. "He took them away!"

Evie's felt her skin crawling. Not just Jacob. Alexandra, too. With only little Zachary, hiding under the Inspector's protection. She really was the last Assassin…

"Took them where? Did he say anything, Zachary?"

"Miss Frye…" Abberline warned, stepping into the room.

Evie ignored him, focusing only on her nephew, who was closing to collapsing in on himself. She would not let it.

"He-he s-ssaid…" Suddenly Zachary's voice became pathetically small. "He was going to make them suffer…"

Something rocked in Evie's core that disturbed her entire being. There was a reason that Zachary was physically unharmed and was left here. He was the message.

"I want to you listen to me, deary," Evie whispered, leaning so close to her nephew that their brows brushed against each other. "You are very brave, and one day you'll be a _great_ Assassin. But you must remain strong. If not for me or yourself but for your sister and your father."

Zachary's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He sniffled and tried to blink the tears away, even though there were still streaks running down his cheeks.

"Y-you have to find them, Auntie Evie," Zachary whined.

"And I will, deary," Evie promised, brushing her thumb across his cheek to wipe away his tears. "You have my word." She leaned close again and placed her lips on her nephew's cheek. "I have to go right now, but I'll be back by tonight. We'll have supper together, how does that sound?"

Unable to speak, the little boy merely nodded. With a final farewell, Evie stood off the bed and joined Abberline outside the door. She fixed him with a glare the moment the door swung shut.

"Forget to mention something, Inspector?' the woman asked crossly.

"It's a surprise to me as it is to you," Abberline defended, his tone sincere. "I didn't even know she was missing."

They began to walk the way out of the barracks, Abberline in the lead as Evie followed on his heels.

"You didn't see her absence suspicious?"

"Last I spoke to Jacob, he told me she left London for a 'trip.' I didn't think anything of it."

"What about Zachary's account?"

Abberline sighed, obviously disliking that the tables had been turned and he was now being interrogated. He humored her, nevertheless. "This is the most he's spoken in a month."

Evie stopped dead at that, blinking. A month? Her heart swelled with pity. Zachary was an apprentice, not an Assassin. He never seen the cruel ways of the world or seen violence or death. So when a monster robbed his innocent view, the boy was left traumatized.

Evie moved on again, hurrying her pace to match Abberline's.

"Take him out of your protective custody," she ordered.

Abberline's jaw clenched, but his eyes reflected his guilt. "I cannot allow that, Miss Frye. He—"

"He saw both his sister and his father attacked and kidnapped by a murderer," the Master Assassin cut off. "And you take him from his home to leave in a place meant for criminals."

It was the Inspector's turn to come to a halt. "I put him here because as a police station, this is the safest place in London. I assure you we have been taking very good care of him."

"If the Ripper wanted him dead, he would be in the morgue, not the barracks," Evie retorted. "Zachary is not a target. Please, Abberline, he needs his family."

Abberline looked unconvinced, but his pressed lips told he had no argument. "Very well. I'll arrange for Zachary to stay at the lodgings where I'll send your belongings. But he is to remain under _protection_."

The man lifted a finger at the latter statement, his tone having no room for argument. Evie merely nodded gratefully.

"Thank you, Frederick," she said. The Inspector nodded and walked away.

"I'll take to you where the Ripper first struck." They were crossing the lobby of the station finally, several officers nodding greetings at their boss. "Pray we find a clue that tells us how to find the Ripper… or Jacob."

Abberline once again took the lead down the stairs, but Evie heard his solemn tone.

"You think Jacob is dead?" she questioned.

"I dare not believe it," Frederick sighed. "But if he is, you may be the only person to stop the Ripper now."

Evie pressed her lips to a thin line. "Take me to the crime scene."

Abberline nodded. "Follow me."

They stepped outside, and Evie finally understood why the constables showed her through the backdoor when she first arrived. A sea of people filled the street outside the station, held back by makeshift police barriers and constables. They all sharply dressed and armed with either a camera or a notepad. Journalists.

When the crowd noticed the pair, the sea surged forward, only to be pushed by back the police. Evie winced when there was a collective roar. Suddenly there was a flash and Evie blinked at the sudden light. Following Abberline's instructions, she looked down, avoiding eye contact as the police parted the sea to allow them passage. The journalists yelled at them, trying to shout over one another in a competition to get noticed first.

"Inspector, do you have any leads who the killer is?"

"Have you received any more letters? What do they say?"

"There is statement that a Polish immigrant has been charged. Is this true?"

Instead of answering the questions, Abberline pushed through, acting like the crushing sea didn't exist. That only spurred the journalists to give more questions of a similar nature: demanding more information of the case or accusing a doctor, a criminal, a sailor and even a schoolmaster. Evie found herself being suffocated, not only by the warm bodies being pressed against her but under the scrutiny of so many eyes. Her Assassin instincts flared, like a warning toll. The woman had spent her entire life being trained to avoid attention, but now, there was nowhere to run. She held her breath, pushing her reflexes to the back of her mind.

She gave a silent sigh of relief when they made their way through into the safety of an alleyway. Abberline did likewise, slumping his shoulders.

"Glad that's over. I rather not have egg on my face today," he sighed.

"Is it always like that?" Evie asked.

"Gets worse each day with each murder. Damn vultures. The journalists seem to always get the word first. We get there, they've trampled the evidence and next day's headlines are dripping with blood."

"Do you know how they get there so fast?"

"No doubt they have been waiting for an opportunity to jump on for years." When Evie gave him a curious look, the Inspector explained, "Reporters share a view of Whitechapel as a lair of savages, monsters, and werewolves who bring ruin upon honest citizens. The few hundred yards between Flower and Dean Street have become so dangerous that even my best constables are afraid patrol at night."

The pair came up to a carriage hidden in a backstreet, away from the prying eyes of the journalists. A constable loyally opened the door for them. He gentlemanly offered a hand to Evie, but she ignored it and clambered in, Abberline behind her. They settled just as the carriage started moving through the streets of the borough.

By now it was midday, so there were more souls than when Evie first arrived. But instead of expensive coats and top hats, people wore clothing just above rags. The woman was greeted with hard faces of the ones that weren't looking down. It was as if meeting eye contact was taboo for these people. She spied a group of children, wearing clothes that were either too tight or too loose. They were playing in the dirt, next to the skeletal rotting corpse of a gelding that no one bothered to move. Evie frowned.

"These people look miserable," she observed sadly.

"Elsewhere the rich get richer, but here, the poor are living on the living, fighting to survive each day," Abberline in a remorseful tone. "It is a cesspool of crime, where terror reigns supreme."

"The Ripper's terror," Evie added bitterly.

It was then the carriage rolled to a stop and the door swung open. Abberline and Evie clambered out and continued the journey on foot, zigzagging through the maze-like alleyways. Finally they came to a desolate courtyard. Under the shadow of a tall building, the air was cold and despite it was outside, it was stale. Evie felt her hair stand on end as her senses tingled. It felt like death here.

"This is where Mary Ann Nicholas was murdered," Abberline explained. "I knew her as Polly, that's what her friends called her. But the woman who died here is not the woman I met a few times at the Frying Pan pub…"

"Then who was she?" Evie asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"Was the body identified?"

"Her husband hadn't seen her in eleven years. He barely glanced at the poor woman before he had the gall to 'forgive her for what she's done to him'."

Evie pursed her lips. If the husband barely glanced at her, then it was safe to say the body wasn't properly identified. Or maybe he already knew the woman was not his wife. Either way, the Assassin would have to arrange a visit to the morgue after this. But for now, the crime scene.

"Where was the body found?" she asked.

"There," Abberline confirmed, pointing to the next to the tall wooden fence. Where Nicholas was cornered and murdered. "A cart driver discovered her body and contacted the police. Her throat had been cut twice and multiple incisions to her abdomen." He suddenly sighed. "That's one way to put it…"

Evie wandered the spot he had gestured. At first glance, there was no signs that there was a murder here at all. After months of exposure, the evidence had been washed away by the elements. The Assassin closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. When she opened them, the world was cloaked in shadow.

She could _feel_ her surroundings, pressing against her. Including Abberline's presence, which was a calm, peaceful aura. She was assaulted by scents and tastes she was oblivious to moments before, but she had learned to focus. So she focused on the shining stains at her feet. Blood was never truly washed away. Merely soaked up by the earth.

Evie narrowed her eyes when she noticed the stain wasn't as large as she was expecting. By the wounds Abberline described, there should be a lot more blood.

"How much blood was there when the police arrived?" she asked.

"Not much," Abberline replied. "The surgeon believed she was either moved or the incisions were done postmortem."

Either theory was likely, the latter confused the Assassin. What would drive a man to do such? Evie thought about it with disconnected calculation. Between the murder and the ripping, it would have taken five minutes to commit the crime. Far too long for an efficient assassination.

"Did anyone hear anything?" Evie asked, rising from her observations.

"Not a soul," Abberline answered, crossing his arms. The Assassin snapped her head towards him.

" _No one_?"

This place wasn't exactly isolated… Evie paced around the courtyard, finding several more ghosts of bloodstains. There was certainly a fight here. A bloody one. Yet it was done without a single sound. Now Evie was beginning to understand why the investigations had been so fruitless and why her brother called for her. Not even Assassins could be capable of such elusiveness.

Then a particular bloodstain caught Evie's eyes. She gave it a second glance. It was a small stain on a tree, above her head. Certainly too high to be blood splatter from the fight. Abberline noticed her curious stare.

"Have you discovered something?" he asked.

"Hold a moment," Evie replied, nearing the tree.

The world returned to color as she observed the curious spot. The bloodstain persisted the weather, but it was faded. The Assassin narrowed her eyes when she noticed a chip in the bark, in the center of the stain. Not blood splatter. It was stuck with an object. A bloody object.

Realization came to Evie's mind like a lantern being light. She felt Abberline's eyes on her as she returned to Miss Nicholas's last stand. Ignoring the fact how silly she may have looked, she pretended to throw, tossing her arm towards the stain on the tree. Then it became clear.

Evie crossed the courtyard, to a pile of crates that seemed unused for a long time. She looked between them, noticing a shiny object buried in the dirt, unnoticed.

"I found Miss Nicholas's ring," the woman announced.

The woman plucked it up from the earth. As she dusted it off, she heard Abberline approach, trying to see her discovery. However, when Evie turned the ring over, her blood went cold.

The insignia of the Brotherhood.

"An Assassin's ring…" she gasped.

"You're saying she was one of you," Abberline realized, his voice filled with disbelief. Obviously it never crossed his mind.

"Yes." Evie's fingers curled around the ring. She looked up into her old friend's eyes. "And that was why she was killed."

* * *

 **And Evie enters that stage! I was originally going to for it to be focused solely on Alexandra, but I realized Evie is a big part of the story, so she needed a role. I also had several ideas with Evie, and I wanted to write them. So Evie's point-of-view will be basically my version of the DLC, but I am twisting events and adding new scenes to prevent it from being a word-to-word novelization.**

 **That said, yes, the view point will switch between Evie and Alexandra. And yes, keep in mind, they have separate timelines. However, they should not affect each other and I will try my best not to make it disorienting.**

 **As this chapter, I tried to make it realistic. Yes, Zachary is from an Assassin family and not terribly young, but he has never been in the field. And after what he been through, he has a right to be traumatized. As for the crime scene, I used Ubisoft's interpretation but added actual facts to make it clearer. I did change the dialogue around, merely to make the flow better.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back, baby! Sorry for the long update, I had a hiatus on this story and gotten preoccupied with other projects (when life wasn't slowly killing me). However, the spirit of Halloween inspired me to continue this fanfiction.**

 **…** **Only to have more terrible ideas than before. That said, things start getting weird from here. Tags are in the first chapter. You have been warned.**

* * *

 _September 8_ _th_ _, 1888_

 _I wonder, do you sleep better at night, pretending that I don't exist? Like a man throwing out his pup onto the streets, just because he walks a little funny. After everything we've been through together, and you can't even kill me yourself. You have to send the little lapdogs that replaced me. I'm a little offended, quite honestly. But you're just following Daddy's orders, aren't you, Alexandra? Or do you really think so little of me? You must have forgotten I am an Assassin as well. Maybe a little reminder might help your memory. 29 Hanbury Street. Pardon the mess, but I think the press will enjoy it. Since you decided to ignore me, then all of London will give me the attention I deserve. And the world will know my terror._

 _Yours Truly,_

 _Jack the Ripper!_

Alexandra was filled with glee and hope when she could move again. Her movements were stiff and her muscles were sore, but she could move. She growled as she struggled to a sitting position—noting this was the first time in days she actually sat up on her own. Even that task was exerting. She was greeted with a dark room—she couldn't even see the details in the gloom.

Good. The Ripper usually left her in darkness when he left for a long time. And if he _did_ come back, she may be able to use the darkness to her advantage. When before her drive was as weak as her body, Alexandra was filled with fierce determination. She had to escape. She had to find her family and Inspector Abberline and whoever was left of the Brotherhood. She couldn't waste an opportunity like this. Jack had to know the drug would wear off by now.

There was only one problem. Alexandra glanced at her wrist, to see the chain was still clamped on.

 _"_ _Just in case it wears off a little early_ ," Jack had explained. Just thinking about his amused brutality made the Assassin's blood boil. She wanted to see if he was still haughty when she was slicing her blade across his throat.

Alexandra shifted until her legs hung off the edge of the bed. Even that took more effort than it should. Curse it. How could she be rendered so useless?

Pushing away her discomfort, the girl pressed the soles of her feet against the floor. It was cold stone, sending chills across her skin. Now or never. The prisoner pushed herself off the bed until she was standing. Only to collapse.

Alexandra cried as she crumbled onto the hard ground. Her head spun and numbness spread across her body waves. The dull ache in head intensified. Damnit, the drug was still active?! Then the Assassin became aware of the shaking of her limbs and the horrible tightness in her stomach. It felt hollow, like the Ripper had torn out her organs.

She hadn't eaten in days. Not even a sip of water. Alexandra couldn't even remember the last time she had to bite to eat, even before her capture. It was a blasted miracle she was still alive. She recalled a story Uncle Henry told her. He traveled with a caravan to cut across the desert, but when a sandstorm threw them off course, they got stranded for three days without food or water. She wondered if this is what he felt like.

Alexandra shook her head. She was losing focus. She had to escape. _Now_.

The Assassin untangled herself until she was leaning on her palms and knees for support. With a heave, she stood back up. The room swayed. Alexandra caught herself on the desk before she could fall. She waited until the spell passed before cautiously leaning off. A rush of relief flooded her when she didn't collapse.

Progress. Even though, her guard was still on high alert and her senses were sharp. She glanced at the door (or at least, where she thought was the door), half-expecting the Ripper to barge through and catch her in the act. The room remained silent.

Through the darkness, Alexandra glared at the chain shackling her to the wall. It was attached to a metal slapped, nailed to the stone wall. She thought about her options. The chain was a few feet long. It was enough for her to reach the bed, but prevented her from reaching the opposite side of the room, which included the door. She knew there was no tools in the room she could use and she didn't have anything to improvise with. The prisoner certainly didn't have any heavy object to break the lock with. That meant…

The Assassin wrapped the chain around her arm, and clasped both hands around the chain, until it was pulled tight. Some part of her screamed that this was a terrible idea—but the majority of her mind, including the part that desperately wanted escape, told this was the only way. Swallowing, Alexandra shifted her weight and pulled.

The hook keeping her in place didn't even budge. That didn't deter her determination. Instead, she just pulled harder. Same result. Alexandra grinded her teeth. Using all the energy that she had, she jumped back, yanked on the chain hard.

Only to hear a distinct _pop_ from her shoulder.

The Assassin wailed as pain erupted from her shoulder as she felt the muscles _tear_ underneath her skin. Doubling over, she laid her hand across it, only for steady throbs to radiate from her self-inflicted injury. _Idiot_.

Alexandra cursed at herself and pushed the discomfort at the back at her mind, along with her hunger and her headache. Only now it was significantly harder to ignore all those things. She straightened and glanced at her shoulder. Despite her awkward viewpoint, she could see the unnatural angle of the bone. _Of course_ it would be dislocated.

The woman considered relocating it. Then again, it was already dislocated. She couldn't make it worse. The Assassin braced again. Her arm was harder to move, but moved enough for Alexandra to pull. And pull and pull and pull.

Until pain once again erupted from her shoulder. Her _dislocated_ shoulder.

Alexandra's wail turned into a scream. Suddenly she was on the floor, gripping her arm as the room spun around her. Everything was hurting: her head, her shoulder, her limbs, her stomach. Tears streamed from the woman's eyes as agony coursed through her in steady waves.

Alexandra didn't know how long she passed out. Minutes? Hours? Maybe days, for all she knew. She opened her eyes to a bright light and a throaty sigh.

"Oh, what did you do?" Jack the Ripper groaned.

The prisoner didn't move as heavy footsteps crossed the room, nearing. Warm hands hauled her into a sitting position, leaning her back against the bed. Even that caused excruciating pain, but Alexandra didn't make a sound. She couldn't even if she wanted to, as her throat felt raw.

Jack said no word or warning as he gipped her cocked up shoulder with both of his large hands. There was a loud _pop_ as the bone snap back into its socket. Alexandra let out a high-pitched sound and almost passed out again. Jack caught her as she fell forward.

"There now, better?" he mused.

Alexandra didn't answer him.

Silently, her captor slipped one of his arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. Like she weighed a feather, he scooped her up and placed her back on the bed. Jack raked his gloved fingers through her hair, as if to comfort her. The Assassin wanted to cry.

She expected the Ripper to talk to her or scold her for her actions, but he remained silent as slipped away. Alexandra heard the metal hinges of the door squeak in protest as it opened. There was so much _pain_.

"Jack," the woman called tentatively. The footsteps paused. "I'm hungry."

* * *

Alexandra seriously never ate so fast in her life. Jack even had to pull her meal away from her, chuckling.

"You'll choke, you know," he warned, but the prisoner ignored him as she stole a piece of bread from the tray.

However, half-afraid he would take it away, the Assassin forced herself to actually chew instead of swallowing her bites whole. It was a meager meal: a couple slice of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a small bowl of something she believed was supposed to be stew. She didn't process what kind any of it was.

How many days had she gone without eating? She had no interest in asking Jack—he probably wouldn't give her a straight answer, anyway. Alexandra tried to rationalize—it only had to be a few days, or else her body would have given out. Then she remembered her dilemma of her failed escape attempt. Her body _did_ go out. The thought made her choke.

"See?" the Ripper scolded.

Alexandra didn't comment that it wasn't because of her improper eating. She reached out for the cheese, only for Jack the snatch it away. The prisoner glared.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that was for you," she snapped sarcastically, only to hear her voice was raspy from lack of use.

Her captor ignored her as he broke off a piece of cheese and brought up a fist. Naturally the Assassin flinched, but couldn't get very far between her position and her soreness.

"Come on, eat," the Ripper ordered.

Then she realized what Jack intended to do. Pride and anger flared in her chest. Her wanted to feed her. Like a _child._ Alexandra glared.

"Fuck you…"

"I'm rather not in the mood for that."

The Assassin honestly couldn't tell if he was being smart or took her seriously. She continued to glare. The Ripper stared back.

"Eat, or starve," the killer drawled. "You're free to choose."

The prisoner's skin prickled, remembering the latter statement was what her father always said to her. Jack had no right to use it against her. Especially when she was anything but free, because she had no choice. She would die at the hands at the madman, that much she was sure of. Though how slowly and how painfully was the only question.

Alexandra tried to force her tense muscles to relax. It was hard. She laxed her jaw, allowing the Ripper to place the cheese on her tongue. The Assassin chew slowly as possible, finding an interesting spot on the wall. Jack was patient, waiting until she done with a bite and promptly giving her another.

The prisoner didn't remember finishing. Only that the bowl was empty, and her stomach still felt the same. At least the pain subsided. She was disappointed when Jack pulled the tray away, saying, "That should be enough for now."

Alexandra said nothing, even though she wanted to refuse. There was buzz in her head, but not as strong as before. She supposed it wasn't surprising Jack would continue to drug her, especially after her failed escape attempt. It was probably why her muscles loosened without her permission and her guard weakened. It was why she spoke when she saw her captor turn to leave. There was no idea when she would see him again.

"I want to see my father," she demanded.

"He's alive," Jack replied automatically.

"How do I know? Before you said he was dead. You could lying."

Alexandra did not dare mention it was not her father keeping her place, but the Ripper knew that as well as her. At her words, the madman turned and considered her. The Assassin did not back down under his gaze.

"I want proof that Jacob is alive," she commanded. Alexandra knew her glare wasn't intimidating, considering the pathetic state she was in. There was a moment of silence before the Ripper let out an amused snort, which was as lifeless as stone.

"You always were a smart little bugger," the killer mused. "Very well, we can have your reunion a little early."

With that, Jack turned back around and placed the tray on the table. He pulled out his knife. Alexandra suppressed a shudder when he placed the tip on her neck. The metal was cold against her warm skin, and she wondered if his victims felt it when he sliced their throats.

"No tricks," he warned.

Alexandra made no acknowledgement, rendered frozen by the weapon, but turned her wrist to expose the clasp of her shackle. Jack pulled out a set of keys and the prisoner let out a hiss of pain as he unlocked it. Sure enough, the skin was rubbed raw, now an angry red with several blisters. It stung against the cool air. But the loss of the restricting weight was a liberation, albeit a small one.

The girl didn't hesitate to leap to her feet. She was punished when her head swayed. Jack caught her before she lost her balance.

"Easy now," he chided.

Apparently impatient, he didn't wait for her to get her bearings. Wrapping a hand around her upper arm, the madman pulled her out of the room. Alexandra stumbled to keep up with his long strides, but he pitied her by pushing her in front. They would not at her pace, not his.

Alexandra couldn't help but draw a sharp breath when they stepped out into the corridor, realizing it was the first time in days (or was it weeks?) she was out of her cell. Even though it wasn't much a different. A tunnel of stone blocks surrounded her, illuminated by oil lanterns at regular intervals. The chilly air was stale and unmoving, telling her they were underground. The hallway was long and narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side.

Although she walked a step ahead, Jack held his prisoner close and guided her through the labyrinth. As if he knew it well. Alexandra's buzzed mind could not trace her steps. However, she did not fail to hear distant screams, echoing off the walls to surround her. Her skin crawled. They did not sound human.

"Where are we?" she asked in a murmur.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that," Jack deadpanned. Finally they came to a metal door. Holding Alexandra aside, the madman fished out another key. There was a heavy _clank_ as it unlocked. The Ripper pushed the girl inside. "You have two minutes."

Alexandra inhaled sharply. It took several precious seconds to recognize the thing on the floor was Jacob Frye.

The man lay in a feeble position on his side. His coat was torn and dirtied and bloodied. Alexandra saw stains of blood and vomit and defecation on the floor. Some were fresh; others were old. Jacob was not the first prisoner held in this cell. She ignored the stench.

"F-father?" the daughter whispered.

She received no reply. Slowly, tentatively, she neared the limp form on the floor. Alexandra's heart quickened and she feared the Assassin Mentor was already dead. Then she heard it. A faint, shuddering gasp of breath.

With a gasp of her own, the girl fell to her knees by his side and placed a hand on Jacob's shoulder. She carefully rolled him so she could see his face. The daughter screamed.

"What did you _do_ to him?!" she screeched.

The monster merely tilted his head. "Ripped him."

Where Jacob's left eye was supposed to be, was only gaping hole. The left side of his face had swelled to nearly double, trying to close it. Blood stained his face, both dried and fresh. It had tried to clot to seal the wound, but it was too significant. It was a blasted miracle he had not bled out already.

Suddenly Alexandra's dark world swam again, but this time it wasn't because of drugs or hunger. It was caused by the red haze covering her vison.

" _You goddamned bastard!_ " the Assassin screamed at a furious high-pitch. She twisted around and leaped to her feet. "I hope you burn in _Hell_!"

Jack didn't move even when she went to pounce, but froze when there was a touch on her leg.

"Aaal-lecks," a weak, frail, croaked voice slurred.

Alex looked down to see Jacob's remaining eye had opened to a slit. His usually bright hazel gaze was dark and dull. He looked up at her, but it was not focused. Instantly the girl's fury vanished. She fell back to his side.

"Father, I'm here!" she gasped. Slowly, cautiously, she touched the good side of his face. Slowly, his chapped lips pulled into a weak smile.

"Yerr aliff," he mumbled, his strained voice relieved. Alexandra could merely nod. "Zzac?"

The girl dared to glance over her shoulder at the Ripper, who stood watching them with his arms folded over his chest. "Where is my brother?"

"I gave him to the Inspector," Jack answered. When Alexandra only stared, he added, "Alive."

The Assassin sighed her own relief and turned to her wounded father. "He's safe."

There was a sound that sounded like a breath came from the man. Alexandra listened to his breathing. It was shallow and unsteady. His skin was so cold… She trembled. Jacob felt it.

"Allecks… 'member yoor num," he slurred. It took several moments for the daughter to decipher what he said.

"'Defender of mankind,'" Alexandra answered.

"Yoor mum numbed yoo."

"I know."

She tried to keep the tremor from her voice, the tears from her eyes. She heard a scuffle of a boot across the stone floor. Jack was getting bored.

"Yoo… muss be bruve," Jacob continued. How it must have hurt to speak. His next word was clear. "Escape."

"Not without you."

Alexandra stopped a sob from escaping as she dared to wrap her arms around him. She wanted to hold him tight, to never let go, but her father was limp in her arms.

"Time's up," their captor announced, deciding he didn't want to wait any longer. The Assassin shut her eyes.

"I luff yoo," Jacob whispered in her ear.

"I love you," Alexandra echoed, speaking low enough so Jack couldn't hear. The heavy footsteps neared. "I'll find a way to escape, I promise."

Suddenly a hand tangled in her hair, gripping at her roots. The girl yelped as the Ripper used the poor leverage to pull her from her father and onto her feet. Before she could properly find purchase, she was shoved out the door. Her shoulder collided with the cold wall of the corridor just as there as a deafening slam. The vice grip returned to her arm, pulling her.

"There's your proof," Jack spat. "Now back to your cage, my pet."

Alexandra turned back to her captor.

"He needs a doctor!" she exclaimed.

"He's alive," Jack argued.

"He's dying!"

"Why should I care?"

"He's your Mentor!" the prisoner spat, struggling. The monster's hold did not falter. "He took you in! Made you one of us! He was a father to you!"

Jack came to a suddenly halt and fixed her with a murderous glare. "And what kind of father can't protect his own, eh? He'll suffer just like he made _me_ suffer."

"It was not his fault!"

"But it was." The girl trembled underneath his demonic gaze. "He _murdered_ our mothers, Alexandra. He _will_ pay."

Alexandra only shook her head in disbelief, eyes wide and jaw agape. No, Jacob wasn't responsible for her mother's death, no more than he was responsible for Jack's. But the Ripper's madness had only worsened, to point he had no rationally or humanity. The girl tried to remember what he was—the brave and reckless, but dutiful and kind boy. Her _friend_. There was no return for him.

The Assassin thought quickly. No. She couldn't bear a world without her father. Especially if it meant she would be alone with this monster.

"I'll do what you say if you let him live," she promised, unable to stop the words coming out of her mouth.

"Will you now?" Jack mused, cocking his head.

Alexandra swallowed. He locked her away, drugged her, chained her. But she was not dying in a pool of her own bodily fluids. She was safe in a bed and fed. Jack the Ripper did not want to torture her. He wanted to keep her for himself. The poor girl began shaking at the revelation.

"I won't escape," she whispered, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. When Jack said nothing, she placed a tentative hand on his arm. If anyone else touched him, he would rip them on the spot. "I'll stay. I'll stay if you spare our father's life….I promise."

That got the killer's attention. Alexandra never broke a promise.

"Fine," Jack finally replied. "I know a good surgeon or two."

The girl sighed and moved her hand away from him. Then suddenly his large hand wrapped around hers. Before she could properly shout, he pulled her against his chest. An arm wrapped around her waist. Alexandra internally screamed at the unwanted contact, more so when he grasped her chin and tilted her fearful gaze up to meet his deadly one.

"Do not betray me again, my dear pet," Jack the Ripper rumbled.

He took her back to the dark room. He did not shackle her

* * *

.

 **I am a horrible person. And no, I'm not making this a Jack the Ripper X OC fanfiction. Their interactions will be based on how you interpret it.** **The rest of this story will be a combination of Ubisoft's DLC, the cliché serial killer profile, and psychoanalysis.**

 **Yes, the writer is minoring in psychology. So expect a lot of terms. Lots.**

 **So Alex's dug herself to a hole by making contradicting promises. Which one is she speaking the truth?**


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Boss,  
I keep on hearing the police have caught me, but they won't fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the __right_ _track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shan't quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper_ _red_ _stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can't use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope._ _ha ha._ _The next job I do I shall clip the lady's ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck._

 _Yours truly,  
Jack the Ripper_

 _Don't mind me giving the trade name._

 _PS Wasn't good enough to post this before. I got all the red ink off my hands, curse it. No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now._ _ha. ha._

* * *

Evie twisted the ring in her fingers.

Mary Ann Nicholas's ring. An Assassin's ring.

She knew it shouldn't be a surprise. Assassins came from all manner of life. The Brotherhood worked in the shadows, so it was only natural to recruit from society's underbelly. But the revelation gave Evie more questions than answers.

Was Mary Ann Nicholas a prostitute turned Assassin? Or was she an Assassin posing in the business?

It wasn't unusual for Assassins to go undercover to search for information. But why prostitutes? Why Whitechapel? Why did Jack the Ripper only murder women?

Evie sighed. Detective work was never her strong suit. She was logical, yes, but that was only when she had all the pieces. The Assassin could put the puzzle together in a way it was sound and comprehensible. But it was impossible to solve the puzzle without the whole board. And Evie knew she was missing several pieces.

So she was left with one option. Follow Jacob's footsteps. He knew there was a menace in London. No doubt the Mentor had some information on his enemy. Evie just hoped her path did not end the same way as his.

Jacob Frye. _Mentor._ Of the British Brotherhood. The sister remembered how she teased him with the idea all those years ago.

 _"_ _Whatever's left of the Creed would perish under your control,"_ she had mocked him.

She had not meant it literally. She did not dare think what was his fate. Evie could not bear to believe her brother was dead. He could not leave her alone in this world, when they shared a bond no one else had. Her twin. Her other half.

Inspector Abberline had given her the key to Jacob's lodgings, promising no one had touched it since his disappearance. And Alexandra's. Her brother was not the Ripper's only victim.

Evie walked up the steps to the upper floor, the wood creaking underneath her weight. Evie unlocked the door and stepped inside. Instantly the atmosphere turned darker and the temperature cooled to the point the woman felt chills up her spine. It was a lot to take in at once.

Almost every piece of furniture in the two-bedroom apartment was broken. Evie noticed the Indian urn she had given Jacob as a gift lay shattered across the floor. On the other side of the room, a mirror was broken, shards of glass underneath it. There was a chair snapped in half, and there were deep groves along tables and the very walls. There was no doubt a fight here. A very nasty one.

Then Evie saw the blood

Bile rose to her throat. Stains nearly covered the entire floor, turning the light wood an ugly color.

"So much blood," Evie murmured, not realizing her voice was quivering. "I hope it's is yours, brother."

The Master Assassin knew it was a lie even as she said it. She realized the blood made a trail across the floor, ending at the front door. Someone, bleeding, was dragged. Violently. Jacob? Alexandra?

The woman followed it backwards to the living room. A large stain covered the floor. Specs of splatter were on the wall. Stabbed, then they were taken away.

Evie's skin crawled. What if they were ripped? How could someone survive losing so much blood? The Master Assassin forced herself to take a breath and rationalize.

They didn't find a body. Whenever the Ripper killed, he left a body. Jacob Frye was alive. The twin felt it in her bones.

Evie forced herself to move on, looking away from the gruesome scene. She came to a desk pushed up against the wall, covered by papers. Some of them had red stains. There was one that was different from the others, prompting the woman to pick up.

At first the woman's paranoid mind thought the writing was in blood, but realized with relief that is was merely red ink. It vanished once she started reading it, and her stomach was churning when she finished. Her blue-green eyes focused on a single phrase, that jumped out at her like a vile snake.

Jack the Ripper.

What a twisted man. He had brutally murdered a poor girl, and he was laughing like it was all a game. He wrote this letter. Was it to mock the police? Or Jacob? Likely both.

Evie remembered seeing this letter in the newspapers from the Continent. It was printed three days before Miss Stride and Miss Eddowes were murdered. The woman placed the letter back down, beside several newspaper articles, describing Jack the Ripper's horrible deeds and already theorizing suspects. Evie spotted a name underneath most of them: Arthur Weaversbrook. She would have to visit him later.

The woman's attention turned to the box of items on the desk. There were packets of powder and bottles of solution, buried at the bottom. There were round, solid, but breakable, spheres—bombs. Then there was a particular item. It was a forked spike made of iron, the length of her forearm. It had a handle with holes before splitting into two ends. The Master Assassin recognized it immediately, especially when she got a whiff of an unsettling scent.

Fear bombs and spikes. Weapons of intimidation, filled with hallucinogenic powder. They were favored by the Indian Brotherhood, when direct combat wasn't an option. Evie gave these weapons to Jacob, when he and his apprentices came to India to trade tactics. But seeing them beside evidence made the woman's skin crawl. Like it was _wrong_.

Especially when she saw the red stains on the forked spike. Blood.

Evie knew that wasn't supposed to be there. Spikes were merely used to be planted and release poison into the air. Occasionally pin an unruly opponent, if one was clever enough. Most of them were even blunt. But this one was sharpened. Like it was designed to _kill_.

Confused and disturbed, the Assassin placed the bloody spike back, but took others that might prove useful. She ignored they were all sharp. Evie glanced up at the shelf over the desk. Instead of evidence, there was a collection of trinkets. Her eyes fell on a photograph placed in a simple frame. She plucked it up, nostalgia washing over her as she was taken back fifteen years ago.

It was when Jacob, the newly appointed Mentor of the British Brotherhood, took his apprentices to stay with the Indian Brotherhood for a few years, to expand their training. Evie had sent her own recruits to London in exchange. The photograph was taken the day before he ended the three-year-trip. It was a simple family photo, taken outside the Templar of Kali.

Henry had his arm wrapped around Evie's shoulders, as she held their youngest son on her hip. Their eldest was squeezed between them, but in the photo he was merely a boy. Beside her was Jacob's family unit. He stood tall and proud with his favorite top hat and cane. A five-year-old Alexandra was at his feet, holding hands with an older boy who was not Zachary (the boy wasn't even born yet) and was not one of her sons.

Evie recognized him as one of the initiates Jacob had brought with him to train with the Indian Brotherhood. What did they call him? Oh, yes, Jack the Lad. Jack was Jacob's apprentice, taken in when the Mentor saved him from the streets. Everyone affectionally called him "lad," earning his nickname. Reckless and roguish, much like her brother.

Then Evie's stomach began to churn. She was the last Assassin in London. Where was Jack? Jacob occasionally mentioned him in their letters, describing his progress like the boy was his own son. Jacob did not mention Jack when he summoned her. Instead, he had spoken of a menace. Evie remembered Abberline's words.

 _"_ _I have seen such talent for assassination and avoiding detection only once before… when I worked with the two of you. And that is why your brother summoned you…"_

Not a murderer. An Assassin. Jack the Lad. Jack the Ripper.

Could they be one and the same?

Evie stared at the boy in the photograph, trying to imagine if he really could grow into a serial killer. He was the only one in the photo not looking at the camera, instead distracted by something the others couldn't see. The woman remembered he had been fidgeting restlessly the entire time, complaining he was bored and hot. Then again, all the children were unhappy.

Not even the statue of Kali the Destroyer seemed to interest them. Evie stopped. Wait. _Kali_.

The Assassin looked back up to the shelf. A replica of the Kali statue stared back at her—a golden version of the six-armed deity. It was a gift she had given Jacob during his last visit. If he summoned her, but feared he could not greet her...

Evie took the statue, turning it over. Sure enough, a small sheet of paper stuck underneath it fell, but she caught it before it fell to the ground. Black ink was scribbled on its side. Jacob's handwriting had never been the best, but it was messier than most of his letters. He had written this when he was under duress, panicked.

 _There's a_ _woman_ _who can help. Unfortunately, she'll remind you of our childhood neighbour...if the Ripper doesn't get to her first._

Evie squinted her eyes in confusion? Childhood neighbor? Did Jacob mean Old Nellie? That didn't make sense. They loved Old Nellie. She was kind and always treated them with chocolate whenever they visited. Why would Jacob describe Old Nellie as Unfortunate? It wasn't like she was a—

Prostitute.

Prostitutes were unfortunate women.

An unfortunate woman named Nellie.

"Jacob, you clever bastard," Evie muttered under her breath.

She had a name, but now she had to find the woman. Unfortunate women were dime a dozen in impoverished Whitechapel. Evie would have to search the brothels one at a time, but she had to be discreet in gaining Nellie's attention. Because it would attract another's attention. The Ripper.

Placing the note in her coat, Evie turned to head out. Her eyes looked out the window, flickering over the roofs of London, a figure looking down at her. The Assassin stopped and looked again. She was greeted with a sight of a chimney.

Evie sighed and shook her head. Nerves were making her paranoid.

She hoped Nellie had news that did the police did not know, a single clue that could lead her to her family. Or the Ripper.

* * *

Evie chose to take the roofs of Whitechapel rather than a carriage or a street. She had enough strange looks at it was.

Only for a distinct whistle to interrupt her journey.

Evie came to a halt. It had been twenty years since she heard that sound, but she remembered it like it was yesterday. A musical tune, like a bird's. Like a Rook.

The Assassin glanced towards the source, spotting a woman in a dark green coat. The gang's colors. The brunette waved. Recognizing the signal, Evie veered off her course and approached the woman. The gangster promptly turned and slipped to a yard below.

"You're an Assassin," the brunette breathed when Evie landed in a crouch on the ground.

The Assassin inspected the stranger. Although she was a woman, she was battle-scarred and burly like a proper gangster. She was young, merely in her teens. Evie wondered what she had been through for Jacob to recruit someone so young. Then again, their Rooks were young when they formed the gang. When Evie said nothing, the girl went on.

"You have to be!" she exclaimed excitedly. "I don't know any woman that can run like that!" The gangster squinted her eyes, analyzing. "Y-you're Evie Frye, aren't you? You _do_ look just like Mr. Jacob!"

Evie's skin prickled, even though she was relieved to find a contact in this lonely city.

"Have you seen him?" the sister asked.

"No," the Rook shook her head. "Not for a month."

"Jack the Ripper took him. I need to find him and put a stop to that madman's terror before he hurts any more Assassins."

The Rook's excited face fell into a somber gaze. She was quiet for a time before she asked, "So you're going to kill the Ripper?"

The question caught Evie off guard, but she answered anyway. "I may have no choice."

Another lapse of silence.

Evie saw the revolver before the Rook could shoot. The Master Assassin jumped out of the way just as a clap of thunder filled the yard.

"What are you doing?!" Evie screeched. She blinked when she realized the Rook's countenance had completely changed. Before she was friendly and excited—now she was feral and murderous.

"Mr. Jack says to kill anyone that crosses him," she explained.

…What?

Then the Rook gave another melodic whistle, but this one had a sinister note to it. It was replied with sadistic snickers. Evie tried to look everywhere at once as more gangsters stepped out of the alleyways. They were all men and all wore the color of the Rooks, but they were scarred and wore sadistic sneers.

"Look sharp, lads!" a brute of a man, likely the leader, shouted to his lackies.

"Mr. Jack said we can have our way with her…" added another Rook, a scrawny looking one, in a suggestive drawl.

Instead of being fearful, Evie's lips curled in disgust.

"So now that Jacob's gone, you lot start groveling to Jack the Ripper," she spat.

"What do _you_ think?" the leader snapped, idly twisting his club.

"Jacob was kind to you. He took you in, gave you purpose—"

"And now he's a dead man. I think you've been with your Indian bloke so long that you forgot there's a hierarchy in this city. We listen to whoever's the most powerful man in London. And that right now is Mr. Jack." The brute shrugged. "A bit of a lunatic, but we don't pick 'em."

"Help me stop him," Evie pleaded, trying to replace her desperation with authority. "We can take back London, like we took it from Starrick."

The brute shook his head. "I was part of the Blighters before I drifted to you and your brother's Rooks. I didn't see any difference. I was just the guy that got the job done." The man palmed his weapon. "Just like I'm gonna get it done now."

Evie saw his lunge a mile away. She sidestepped easily, and grabbed a hold of his arm and shoulder. It had been a while since she had a good fight, but the memory in her muscles set it like an old habit. The Master Assassin twisted, using the brute's own momentum to send him crashing into the stone wall. He let out a bellow and was sent to the ground, holding his bloody and crocked nose. Evie looked back at the gangsters.

"Who's next?" she taunted.

Apparently, they saw it as an invitation to attack all at once. The Assassin dodged under one punch, only to rise to block another. She twisted the man's arm while she landed several brass-knuckled punches to his ribs. He fell to his knees, wailing. She landed a kick to his elbow to keep him from using the arm again.

Evie turned to face a thug with a dagger. She unsheathed her hidden blade, deflecting his attack. She kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground and knocking him out with a swift kick to the temple. Suddenly arms wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her side. The woman hissed as she was raised off the ground.

She writhed in the man's grasp, but didn't fail to notice a second gangster nearing with a knife. Evie lifted her legs up, kicking the incoming Rook away (which gained her a cut on her leg). At the same time, she threw her head back with all her might, connecting with her captor's chin. His head snapped back with a shout and his grip loosened.

Once Evie was on the ground, she landed an elbow to his jugular. Her assaulter stumbled back, choking. The Master Assassin noticed the woman had raised her revolver again. The freedom fighter leaped away, just in time to avoid a club to the head. Judging by the yell, she determined the Rook had hit her friend.

Evie stumbled back from the group, her single hidden blade engaged at she got distance from them. She had downed the ones that attacked her, but there was still a handful left. They still glared with bloodlust. _Her_ blood.

The older woman was already sweating. How she was beginning to understand why veteran Assassins chose to stay behind, or the ones a few years her senior retired (if they lasted that long, of course). Evie analyzed her situation with a calculating disconnection. She had more experience and skill than the entire gang combined, but it would only take one of them to get lucky.

She had no choice. The Master Assassin plucked out one of the bombs from Jacob's lodgings. His gift to her, even though he may not know it.

 _This will strike fear into their hearts_.

Leaping back even more, Evie chucked the bomb at the ground, just as the gangsters—her and brother's Rooks—surged forward. The bomb cracked, letting lose a fiery orange gas. Evie held her sleeve to her mouth and nose while the gangsters recoiled, but it was too late.

The Master Assassin watched as their eyes dilated until their irises were nearly black and widen to an unnatural length. At first, they stared in confusion, trembling only slightly. Unfocused, they looked around their surroundings, now oblivious to Evie's presence. Then they began shaking as their confusion turned to fear.

A couple let out screams. A couple ran. A couple pulled out weapons, either shooting or swinging at something that was not there. Evie did not know if they saw the same demons or were tormented by their own nightmares. But the result was all they same—they were possessed by unsuppressed, animalistic fear.

Evie waited until only three remained. She knocked out two, having pity on them. The third and the last one standing was the girl who lured her in the first place.

"No, no, no! Stay away! Stay away!" she was shrieking as the Assassin neared her.

Once again, she tried to shoot, but the woman grabbed her hand and tilted it up just as she fired. Evie kicked her to the ground and expertly straddled her weight on her prisoner. The Rook screamed and writhed the entire time, clawing at the ground to get away. The Assassin took her newfound spikes and pinned her arms.

Evie truly pitied the poor girl and was tempted to knock her out to give her mercy. But she needed to have a chat. The Assassin pinned her prisoner until the girl's frantic wails turned into panicked panting. She looked around, the confusion returning.

"What's going on?" the gangster whined. "What'd you do to me?"

"Where is Jack?" Evie demanded instead. "Where is the Ripper?"

The Rook's gaze was still unfocused, but suddenly settled on something over Evie's shoulder. Her eyes went wide again, and she opened her mouth in a scream.

"No, no! I don't want to be ripped!" the girl screeched. "Please don't rip me! Please!"

The hairs on the back of Evie's neck stood on end as a cold chill crawled down her spine. She quickly followed her prisoner's gaze over her shoulder, to the rooftops above them. Only to see the vanishing of a shadow.

"Who was that?" the Assassin interrogated.

"He'll rip me! He'll rip me!" the girl wailed. Evie flinched when suddenly the gangster made a strange noise. She realized it was _laughing_. Fear-filled, maniacal laughter. "Look what you've done! He'll rip you just like he'll rip all the whores in London! Just like he did to that _bitch_!"

"What do you mean? Who are you talking about?"

More maniacal laughter. Evie tried several more times to get an answer, but no avail. The girl's mind was gone. The former syndicate leader mercifully ended the Rook's life with a hidden blade to the neck. Her heart wrenched as she sheathed her weapon, removing it from her victim with a small spray of blood.

Even the Rooks had betrayed them. Jacob had committed his heart and soul to his lads, so much so that even Evie, who initially disregarded his idea for a foolish folly, became attached to their followers. But the ones here she did not recognize.

They were twisted puppets, marionetted by the same menace that terrorized Whitechapel. A menace that the Brotherhood created. Oh, how Evie wished it was not true. But if Jacob's former pupil, Jack the Lad, was the Ripper, then he was _their_ Ripper.

* * *

 **Don't use fear bombs, kids.**


	6. Chapter 6

**With this chapter I decided to make a timeline for this story. Did I need it? Probably not. Did my overanalytical self wanted to do it? Yes. Instead of giving you a page long half-hour worth of work, here's everyone's ages:**

 **Alexandra: 18**

 **Zachary: 10**

 **Jack: 28**

 **Jacob & Evie: 41**

* * *

 _Dear Jacob,_

 _It is with great sorrow and regret that I send this letter, but please understand I have no choice. How I wish that things could be different, and we could be together, now and for always. For my heart still aches for you. But I cannot love a liar and a thief. I do not know what atrocities you have committed, and nor do I ever want to._

 _My life has already been planned for me. My father will give the company to my brother, so I must be another man's responsibility. It is a husband's duty to provide for his wife, something you obviously cannot do. So there is no point pursuing a future that does not exist._

 _I am leaving London for the countryside to be with my family. I will not tell them your secret—merely that I am ill. But if I do not come alone, I will not be able to face them. Which is why I leave your son to you. I pray you will be a better father than you are a husband._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Emily_

* * *

Days passed, Alexandra had no idea how many. In the dark room, it was impossible to tell time. Judging by her meals and her sleep, she assumed a week. The prisoner slept most of the time, trying to escape her living nightmare. Only when she woke up from a peaceful dream and remembered where she was, she found tears in her eyes. Alexandra only got up to void or to fight her restlessness by pacing, but the chain shackling her to the wall did not allow much range of motion.

Jack began to visit her more often. Either to check on his unruly prisoner, or he was simply bored. Alexandra hated every single one.

Usually his visits would lapse into silence. Jack would be an ominous presence (even when he wasn't staring) and Alexandra would pointedly ignore him. Sometimes she wouldn't have that luxury. Jack would speak with her, but their conversations would be so idle that she forgot what they were about.

Usually he would bring food. Two meals a day, Alexandra realized; just enough to keep her alive. Sometimes he would allow her to eat on her own. Sometimes, as if to test her, he would feed her. Other times, Alexandra would wake up to the demon standing over her. She screamed twice.

Apparently today was one of those days. Alexandra woke up to something twisting in her hair, but she didn't have the heart to slap Jack's hand away. Usually her snaps ended with a new cut or a fresh bruise, so she learned to hold her tongue. Instead, she kept her eyes closed and stayed still, her muscles tensing. Her captor must have felt it, because he realized she was awake.

"Sleep well?"

He asked it enough to be a greeting. Alexanda needed to find more and more will not to hit him. Her reply was as curt as always.

"Fine," she muttered and tried to force her muscles to relax. They didn't.

She tried to ignore the gloved fingers tangling through her hair, trailing its length before moving back any loose strands. She couldn't. Jack said nothing for a time, and Alexandra thought it was going to be another silent visit.

"I remember meeting your mother," the Ripper suddenly mused, his deep voice shattering the quiet. "Shame she died the way she did."

He only met her a few times, only because the woman was too busy caring for her newborn child. Alexandra wondered if he wanted an answer. Sometimes he would say random statements, and he would move to the next subject just as quickly. As if his mind couldn't stay focused. Probably couldn't, as twisted as it was.

"I don't remember much of her," the girl said anyway.

"What of your brother's?"

The girl flinched, and hoped he wouldn't have caught on to that. But like the rest of her situation, it was a feeble hope. Her silence spoke volumes.

"Ah… Should I say _half-_ brother?" Jack corrected.

Alexandra swallowed, keeping her silence. Even as the vile woman's face flashed across her vision. Jack said nothing either, long enough she believed he forgotten the subject.

"So what was it? He fucked two whores?" he inquired.

The prisoner mentally cringed at his crude terms. No, that wasn't the case at all. The instinct to defend her family's pride swelled.

"No," she answered. "My mother…." Alexandra found she did not know a name, but it did not matter. "She was a French Assassin. The Council sent her to aid Father in building a Brotherhood, after the Fall of the British Rite." The girl could remember every story Jacob told her, of her parents' misadventures. How they couldn't stand each other at first, and how it slowly changed to something else. "They… married two years later, before I was born."

Father made sure to add they married because they wanted to, not because they _had_ to. Still, it irked him that Mother did not tell him she was with child until after the wedding.

"How old were you when she died?" Jack asked. He said it too plainly, as if he was asking about the weather.

"Three."

"Then your father took us away."

"…Yes."

Alexandra tried to push away the image in her mind. She couldn't remember anything from her childhood before India, but she remembered that _face_. That face that she _knew_ was supposed to be kind and gentle, but instead it was pale and sweaty and twisted in agony. The girl hated that was all she remembered of her mother, whose name she did not know. It hurt Jacob too much to say it.

It was why he took her, and the rest of the apprentices, to his sister, Evie, in India. He said it was because the British Brotherhood and Indian Brotherhood were "sister branches" (such choice of words amused him) and as part of the same Empire, depended on each other. They traded secrets, tactics, and supplies, and so the recruits were sent to learn everything from their fellow Assassins. They did just that, but Alexandra was suspicious that Jacob left London for more reasons than just to train his students.

Most of her memories were born in India. Not yet of age, she had been spared of the vigorous training the Mentor's apprentices were subject to, so she had other ways to spend her time. She studied both basic education and the history of their Brotherhood, how they existed from the dawn of history and how they fought the Templar Order to the modern era.

She remembered Auntie Evie and Uncle Henry, how they treated her as one of their own. Evie taught her how to think quickly; Henry taught her how to speak his mother tongue. The aunt found it amusing how the girl mastered the language while Jacob still struggled to stay the simplest of words.

Not only did the older Assassins took a liking to her, but the apprentices themselves. Including Jacob's personal protégé, who spent whatever spare time he had with her. At the time, Alexandra only saw a friend to play with. She did not think the apprentice humored her because he pitied her, because he knew all too well what it was like to lose a mother. Alexandra still did not tell her father the misadventures they got into, and how Jack the Lad caused most of them.

* * *

"Jack…" Alexandra whined, struggling to keep up with the older and taller boy. "Father said not to leave the compound."

"What Jacob doesn't know won't hurt him," her companion replied. He was merely fifteen years of age, but his voice was deep enough to be a full-grown man's.

The five-year-old pouted at the comment. But they would get in trouble… Jack saw her frown.

"We'll be back before anyone notices, I promise," he said. "I just want to look around market. I'll buy you something."

"…I want chocolate."

Jack gave one of his crooked, mischievous smiles. "Promise."

The market wasn't particularly hard to find. Alexandra's senses were assaulted.

It was filled with tents and stalls, so close together that there was barely any room for the herd of people to move between them. There were so many colors in all different shades, in clothing, in signs, in paintings, and more. The little girl had to hold her sleeve to her nose as there was a strong, foul stench of manure and sweat but it was quickly replaced by the sharp scent of spices. There was so much noise. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, coming together in a collective clamor. Sellers yelled over the crowd, music from somewhere drifted through the air, and there were several strange thud-like noises.

"Hold my hand," Jack ordered as they pushed into the crowd.

An adult would always tell her that whenever they went out in public, especially when there were a lot of people. Knowing her cue, she placed her little hand in his large palm. His fingers gently squeezed hers as he pulled her through the maze-like rows like her arm was a tether.

They found the source of the music—Alexandra spotted a man sitting on a ground with a strange flute in his hands, a basket in front of him with a snake in it. The snake seemed to be dancing to the hypnotic music, but before she could observe further, her guardian pulled her along. She saw men in aprons cutting at vegetables and raw meat alike, only pausing to swat away flies. They walked by a man that was nothing but skin and bones, but he smiled to them, revealing he had no teeth.

Jack walked slower than he usually did, restricted by so many obstacles and mindful of his smaller companion. He ignored the other people around him that walked faster, even shoving into him. Usually the boy shoved back, and sometimes growled if they neared again. But they kept shoving into _her_. Suddenly Alexandra stumbled over something and her arm pulled.

"Jack!" she cried, but it was too late.

She fell face-first in the mud, unable to catch herself. The ground was made of dirt so it didn't hurt. But the shoving into her sides did and the little girl whined. She crawled onto her hands and knees, looking up. Her guardian was not there.

"Jack?"

She thought she heard her name, but couldn't find the source. There were so many people! Suddenly hands touched her arms. Relieved, Alexandra gave a delighted gasp and turned to greet Jack, only to see a leathery face. The girl looked around. She only saw a wall of legs.

"Alexandra?" the deep voice drifted over the clamor, but Alexandra could not see.

"Jack?!"

The little girl moved toward the direction of the voice. She called and called and called, but Jack did not answer her. Instead dozens of different sounds replied. Where did he go? Jack wouldn't leave her, would he? No, she didn't want to be here alone! Alexandra squeezed through corridors of warm bodies, which usually pushed her back. She fell twice and once scraped her leg. She whimpered.

 _"_ _What do we have here?"_ The voice was unfamiliar, speaking in Hindi. Jack did not speak Hindi.

Suddenly strong, thick hands wrapped around her middle. Alexandra squeaked as she was plucked off the ground. She was lifted in the air and spun around, greeted with another stranger. She was held by a burly man, with a much smaller, thinner man behind him.

 _"_ _Looks like a lost English—,"_ the thin one mused. He said a word after "English" but Alexandra did not what it meant.

"You should be more careful, little girl," the burly man said in heavily accented English. "The streets are very dangerous."

"Where's Jack?" Alexandra merely asked.

The bury man smiled, putting her on his hip. "Don't worry, child, we'll take you to him."

The girl widened her eyes. They knew where he was?! She smiled. They would take her to Jack, and they could continue exploring the market, and she could get chocolate!

The thin man was chattering, saying words that Alexandra did not know, and was speaking too quickly for her to catch.

 _"_ _She will sell good,"_ she thought he said.

 _"_ _Stupid English, thinking they can own us,"_ stated the burly man, twisting his nose like he smelled something bad.

Alexandra whimpered and wiggled as his grip tightened. It hurt! She looked over his shoulder to see the crowd was getting farther away. Wait, wasn't Jack in the crowd? She got her holder's attention.

"We have to go that way," she pointed. The burly man did not glance.

"Do not worry, we know where he is," he merely assured, and continued to move away.

"W-wait!"

Alexandra shifted, and squeaked when the man held her even tighter.

 _"_ _She is a noisy—_ " the thin man commenting, once again saying that weird word.

"Let her go."

The pair of men paused at the deep tone. Alexandra looked the burly man's shoulder and nearly cried with relief. Jack found her! His lips were tugged in a frown, and stared at the men with narrowed eyes. The Indians turned slightly, looking bored. The burly man said in Hindi he did not understand, gesturing. The five-year-old was confused. But he was speaking English a minute ago!

Jack frowned and was silent for moment. He repeated himself in Hindi. The men snickered.

"Your Hindi is shit," the burly men said. The boy's lips twitched when he realized he was played.

"I won't ask again," the Assassin apprentice replied.

"Good."

The men turned away again. Alexandra struggled against the tight grip. Jack flinched.

"Hey! Come back here!" the boy demanded.

"Feck off," the thin man snapped. Alexandra recognized it as a "bad word," even though her father enjoyed saying it a lot. "Go home to your little mistress and see if she likes that little worm between your legs."

The burly man laughed, loud enough that Alexandra flinched at the harsh noise next to her ear. Then it stopped when he suddenly gasped. The girl cried when she fell onto the ground, hitting her elbow and sending a strange sensation up her arm. She cried again. It hurt! There was a hiss and a sharp sound.

Alexandra glanced up to see Jack barging into the thin man, who held out a curved knife. The stranger's eyes bugged out of his skull and he suddenly fell to the ground. Suddenly everything was blurry. A strange noise came from Alexandra's throat.

Why did everything hurt? Why did Jack leave her? Why did those men take her? What did she do _wrong_?

"Don't cry now," a deep voice ordered.

Alexandra opened her eyes to see her guardian's face filling her blurry vision. Her throat hurt. Her leg hurt. Her arm hurt. Her chest hurt. More strange sounds came from her sore body. Jack flinched and looked panicked.

"Alexandra, please don't cry," he begged.

In open rebellion, the little girl cried. She let out a loud wail, oblivious to Jack's cringe.

"No, no, no! Jacob's going to kill me! He said not to make you cry!" the apprentice yelped over her sobs. "Shut up already!"

Alexandra ignored him. Her face became wet, stained by tears and liquid from her nose. She didn't bother to wipe it away. Jack made a noise.

Suddenly strong arms were around her back and her face was pressed against something soft and solid, muffling her wails. The ground disappeared again, making the girl squeak.

"Sh, sh, sh," Jack cooed. There was a tremor in his voice, but he tried to hide it. "It's alright. Jack the Lad's here now."

"You left me!" Alexandra complained.

"I'm sorry, I lost you. But I'm here now. Everything's going to be alright."

She didn't believe him and continued to cry into his shirt. Suddenly fingers tangled in her hair, stroking her head. A palm pressed against her back. Jack hushed her again, the tremor gone from his voice. He kept whispering assurances and promises and apologies, rocking her the entire time.

"I won't let anyone hurt you again," Jack murmured.

"Promise?" Alexandra demanded. Sniffling, she looked up to her guardian. He gave a crooked, reassuring smile.

"I promise."

The little girl's wails quieted.

Just in time to hear a woman scream. She looked up to see they had moved away from the market. She did not see the men anymore. Instead, people were shoving past them, heading towards the way they came. They spoke too fast for her to understand.

"Better now?" Jack suddenly inquired, shifting her weight against his hip. Alexandra sniffled. The boy pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face. "You gave me a scare, back there."

"I thought you were never scared?" Alexandra pointed out. The boy had boasted he would be a fearless Assassin. Jack smiled with a light laugh. Just like her father.

"You're right," he agreed. He glanced behind him at the growing crowd at the market, before smiling back at her. "Now, how about we get you some chocolate?"

* * *

Alexandra blinked away the memory. She refused to be believe the protective, kind boy that guided her through the streets was the same monster that slaughtered her brothers and sisters. That now held her against her will. That hurt her, when the boy promised to never cause her pain. But she remembered what Jack had done to protect her.

He killed those men—slavers. Even now, the Assassin did not know if they deserved it or not. Their profession stood against everything the Creed preached, but they had not harmed the Brotherhood. Did Jack really have to kill them in order to save her? Or did he not care for the Creed even then?

The prisoner closed her eyes tight, trying to shut out the train of thought. Instead, she clung on to the image of India itself. The people, the markets, the temples, the jungles. Everything. Every day was an adventure and something to discover. If anything, London was an alien world when they finally returned almost four years later.

"I never met Zachary's mother," Jack stated.

Of course he didn't. The woman wanted nothing to do with the Brotherhood. Now in her predicament, the Assassin decided that was a good thing. No one deserved to meet the Ripper.

"She came from the high society of London," Alexandra told him. Perhaps if she humored him, he would go away. "She… she met my father when he was at a ball." The Assassin excluded the fact he had infiltrated the ball to assassinate a Templar. "They met a few times. She found out my father was with the gangs, and severed contact with him. Her family would've disowned her, if she married one from a lower-class."

Jacob had included more crude language than that, including a colorful description of her parents. But Jack didn't need to know that. The Ripper said nothing, listening. Alexandra sighed. She forced herself to go on, trying to keep the tremor of emotion from her voice.

"They found out six months later. Her father wanted to rid of the baby." It was easier to say it that way, that it wasn't Zachary. "But an abortion would have ruined them. So nine months after my parents' meeting, my mother gave her son to Father. We never saw her again."

Emily was her name. Alexandra only met her a couple of times, and the woman was bitter during both encounters. Especially when she found out that Alexandra was Jacob's daughter, a living remember that Emily was not his first. That was when the aristocrat believed Jacob was the sole heir to an industrial company that threatened to take London from the dying Starrick Industries.

Alexandra's opinion went even lower when the woman's groveling demeaner quickly changed when she discovered that Jacob was a "gangster" and abandoned her own son, her own flesh and blood. The daughter still didn't know what Jacob saw in that woman. Alexandra wondered if he thought she could fill the void of his lost wife, or she was simply a means to an end.

The Brotherhood didn't have any contacts in the upper-classes. Having a rich and powerful ally would prove consequential in securing the British Empire from the Templars' clutches. Jacob had hoped to gain her trust and ease her into their fold, but Emily would have none of it. So Alexandra had a strong distaste for her, for breaking Jacob's wounded heart and leaving Zachary without a mother.

One of Jacob's Assassins came up with the name. _"'Remembered by God.' She might forget him, but we never will."_

Jacob Frye wasn't particularly religious, but he did accept his friend's merit and he said he simply like the sound of the name. Jack huffed at the end of her story, interrupting her thoughts.

"Everyone's all the same," he drawled. "Selfish and greedy bastards."

"Not everyone, Jack," Alexandra dared to argue. "There is _good_ in people."

The Ripper let out one of his strange laughs, disbelieving.

"I've yet to see it," he said.

The prisoner shifted. Her muscles were sore and weak (she suspected her captor had been putting potions in her drink, but not as strong as before), so it was awkward sitting up. Jack paused his petting to lay a land on her flank, as if to steady her. Alexandra only glared.

"The Brotherhood teaches us to have _faith,_ " she reminded him. "If we can't trust the people we protect, then what hope is there for humanity?"

"Exactly why it is a dead Creed," Jack argued. "There is no hope for humanity. We rob and rape and kill each other. In fact, Brotherhood's better at then anybody."

Alexandra winced at that. It wasn't untrue, but it wasn't what Jack believed. The Assassins worked in the dark to serve the light. They bore the burdens of humanity, gave themselves to sin, in order to bring salvation to those who could not find it themselves. It was the Templars held a more pessimistic view.

"Jack, listen to yourself," the Assassin pleaded. "You speak like a Templar."

She knew those words were a mistake as they were leaving her mouth, but it was already too late. The Ripper's large hand wrapped around her throat in a vice grip. Alexandra couldn't even gasp—he was already crushing her windpipe, so she could only let out a strange, pathetic squeak. Suddenly his eyes were an inch from hers, forcing her to look into the murderous gaze.

"Don't you _dare_ compare me to those filth!" Jack spat, growling like a ferocious bear. The prisoner couldn't say anything if she wanted to. She grasped his wrist, but he only squeezed even tighter. "They think everything belongs to _them_! That we have to grovel to their kind to the end of days! No. The Assassins will rule. Not with government or money or honeyed words. But with _fear_!"

As the madman's voice got higher and higher, his grip became tighter and tighter. Darkness began creeping around the edges of her vision. Alexandra began clawing at the hand, trying to force her fingers around his to pry him off. Her windpipe was closed off, so she could only let out pathetic sounds.

"Juh-ah-ahck," Alexandra squeaked, her voice far too small and weak for a fearless Assassin.

For a moment, the girl truly believed Jack the Ripper would kill her.

Then he let go.

The prisoner greedily took a gasp of air, only for it to scratch against her throat and cause her to cough. She placed a tentative hand on her sore throat. Now doubt it would bruise.

"You would be wise not to anger me, little girl," Jack hissed, rising from the bed.

Alexandra coughed.

 _"_ _I won't let anyone hurt you."_

"What happened to you, Jack?" the Assassin whimpered, hating there a tremor in her hoarse voice. "You were my _friend_."

Alexandra knew her words were falling on deaf ears. How many times did she and Jacob both beg him to come back, to see reason? Only for him to brutally murder victim after victim after victim. Even now, the girl didn't see any trace of the loyal Assassin. Only a faceless demon that stared at her with an inscrutable gaze.

"I _know_ the boy that came to us all those years ago is still in there," she went on anyway. Jack was quiet for several moments.

"I grew up," he finally said. "I opened my eyes and saw the _shit_ of this world. I will cleanse it and I _will_ save our Brotherhood as Jack the Ripper. Jack the Lad is _dead_ , just like our _mothers_."

Alexandra flinched at the latter sentence. Some part of her refused to accept it. Some part of it knew it was true.

"I liked Florence," Jack went on, his growl dropping to a thoughtful murmur. Like he previous anger didn't exist. "She was the first person to show me true kindness."

With that, the Ripper twisted around and left, shutting the door with a slam.

Florence. That was her mother's name.

* * *

 **Emily- "industrious" or "striving"**

 **Florence- French version of** **Saint Florentia, a Roman martyr. "blossoming" or "to flower"**

 **So in this chapter I took liberties to explore Jack's personality. If it seems all over the place, yes, it's supposed to be that way. From what we got from the DLC, I'd say Ubisoft's version had psuedopsychopathic schizophrenia (now say five times fast). As anti-socialness is usually described as a personality disorder, my version of Jack was a sociopath from the get-go. But since psychology was so little understood during this age, no one was aware.**

 **Also I explored the caste systems in this time period, which still exist to an extent today. However, in Victorian times, the gap between rich and poor was huge, and it was at this time period that "Social Darwinism" emerged. So for a prominent Protestant family, a bastard child was a risk to their reputation.**

 **Yes, the writer is minoring in psychology. Expect this whole story to be based on it.**


End file.
